As You Wish
by Darth Stitch
Summary: A Snarry Fairy tale. This is a spoof of the Princess Bride. HPSS slash. UPDATED again!
1. Default Chapter

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As You Wish  
_A Snarry Fairy Tale_(sort of)  
by Darth Stitch a.k.a. Jedi Skysong  
  
  
**_"...true love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. Everybody knows that."_ - Miracle Max**  
  
(from **The Princess Bride** - S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure, the "Good Parts" Version Abridged by William Goldman)   
  
***  
  
**DISCLAIMER:** As I don't have all that lovely money, no, I don't own 'em. They're JK Rowling's toys and borrowing a line from Telanu, I hope to God she doesn't see this. The Princess Bride belongs to Mr. Morgenstern and we all owe Mr. Goldman a great deal for giving us the "good parts." This is a send-up/spoof of the Princess Bride, Snarry-style. There are certain people (and names) here that I have borrowed from hp_femme's a.k.a. Femme(Slash)'s fanfics, with her blessings. (Thanks, femme!)   
  
This is slash - between Harry Potter and Severus Snape. You know, a romantic relationship between two men of the age of consent? And oh yes, Harry is very, very legal in this fic. So if this squicks you in any way, please click on the handy little back button over there and run. Very fast. 

This is pure silliness. And fluff. Lots of it. And maybe pirates too. Leave canon at the door.   
  
*facepalms* I still can't believe I'm doing this...  
  
***  
  
**Prologue**  
  
Her ears were ringing. Her head hurt and her throat ached and her nose was stuffy. She clutched her stuffed dog Paddy close and whimpered. She was miserable.   
  
In short, Katerina was sick.   
  
Her worried parents hovered over her the whole day, pouring nasty-tasting medicines down her throat, getting her chicken soup, boxes of tissues, juice and extra blankets. She was ordinarily a very even-tempered child, a good little girl (most of the time, her father muttered, rolling his eyes heavenwards) but precious few children could be in any good humor when the sun is out, the weather wonderful for playing and the child sick in bed.  
  
When Daddy poked his head in her bedroom door, Katerina whimpered and hid her face in Paddy's soft fur. "No more medicines, Da."  
  
"No more medicines, I promise," he answered gently, slipping inside her room. She felt the mattress shift as he sat down on the bed beside her. Coaxing her from Paddy, he showed her that he did, indeed, not have any icky-tasting medicine with him.   
  
Instead, he had a book.   
  
Katerina ordinarily liked books. Her parents were rather fond of them, her father especially, so she liked them too. But right now, her head hurt too much to look at any old book.   
  
"Don't wanna read."  
  
"You don't have to," Daddy said comfortingly. "I'm going to read to you. You'll like this, I promise."  
  
"Does it have a prince in it?"  
  
"Yes. And a giant."  
  
She giggled weakly. "I like giants." She did, indeed. Very much so. "Pirates?" She liked them too.   
  
"Oh my, yes. And sword fights and dueling and -- "  
  
"Magic?"  
  
"That, too. And love. True love." Daddy smiled at that. Katerina loved to see him smile.   
  
"Jimmy hates mushy stuff," Katerina informed him. Jimmy was Daddy's godson, so she saw him fairly often. She sniffed into her tissue, a disdainful little sound. "But I like it." She scowled. "And I don't have to be a girl to like it."  
  
"Nothing wrong with that," Daddy laughed, gently ruffling her hair. "So. Shall I start?"  
  
"Oh, yes, please!" Another sniff. Katerina really, _really_ hated being sick.   
  
"As you wish." Daddy made himself comfortable next to her, opened the book and began to read.   
  
-end prologue- (TBC)

  



	2. In Which We Meet the Bride, er, Groom

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As You Wish   
Chapter One: The Potions Master  
  
Severus Snape could never be called the most handsome man in the world.   
  
His nose was too big, for one thing, and he quite hated it. A far more charitable person would call it "Roman" or "aristocratic" but Severus Snape believed in being honest with himself and would have none of that. Simply put, he had a great raptor's beak of a nose that he fervently hoped none of his children (as if he would have any) would ever be unlucky enough to inherit.   
  
  
_Katerina giggled. "That's what Papa always says."  
  
Daddy scowled. "Do you want me to go on or not?"  
  
Katerina privately thought that Papa scowled better anyway and Daddy still looked his best when he smiled. Instead of saying that aloud, however, she said quite meekly, "Yes, Daddy, do go on."  
  
Daddy cleared his throat. "As I was saying…"_  
  
  
Also, his hair, although it was quite an attractive shade of black, was far too greasy from all the time he spent in his Potions laboratory. It hung in lank, limp, unattractive strands just below his ears and hid his face half the time. There was a time when he kept it quite long and tied neatly (more or less) back but he'd finally given up on the whole thing and hacked off most of it once and for all. Besides, having one's hair getting into one's potions wasn't very healthy. His skin was also an unhealthy pale shade and his hands, lovely and elegant as they were, were perpetually stained yellow at the tips from handling the ingredients for his potions.   
  
Also, he scowled more often than he smiled (he never, _ever_ smiled, actually). If he had one claim to beauty, then it was his voice. His voice was very much like warm honey, a deep, dark velvety purr that could ensnare the senses far more efficiently than any of his potions or spells could. He could quite stop a person in his or her tracks with that voice. It might have saved him completely except instead of saying nice, cheerful and complimentary things, he often flayed people alive with sharp, acerbic comments on their general intelligence and competence. Few people survived a verbal battle with Severus Snape and lived to tell the tale.   
  
Not that many people dared to approach the Potions Master. Most of the time, he was perfectly content in his cottage, within his laboratory, brewing his potions and working on his spells. He was quite an accomplished wizard and he was far better known for his magical skill rather than his looks or his honeyed words. His only companion was his assistant - a young man named Harry, who was, more often than not, the usual target of his acid tongue.   
  
"Fetch this, boy," Snape would say. "Chop this up finer, you clumsy fool - you're mangling it all up!" "Carry this, boy." "Bring this to the midwife, boy." "I asked for asphodel, you dunderhead!"  
  
To all these, Harry would only answer, "As you wish." Which was odd, really. Harry had a pert tongue of his own and this often resulted in some lively arguments between them. He was perhaps the only person in the world who went toe to toe with Snape in a battle of words and though he lost more of them than he would like, the silly, foolish boy still kept at it. This new thing (" 'As you wish' indeed!" Snape huffed.) was so quite unlike the normally spirited young man that it put Snape quite out indeed.   
  
He rather missed having someone to talk to who at least had half a brain in his head. Even if he denied its existence from time to time. Now it was "As you wish" this. And "As you wish" that. And quite frankly, Snape was getting sick of it.   
  
Accordingly, his comments to Harry became more and more acidic, trying to provoke the young man into saying something other than " 'As-you-bloody-wish.'"   
  
Finally, it all came to a head one day when Harry came back from the market, having been swindled quite nicely out of some vital potions ingredients for the nth time.   
  
"Can't you bloody read, boy?" Snape raged, waving a sheet of paper practically under the young man's nose. "Everything has been written out here, quite clearly -- "  
  
"I don't know how to read."  
  
The words, spoken with a hint of the old defiance in the young man's green eyes, were enough to stop Snape mid-rant.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, I don't know how to bloody read. And you heard me the first time."  
  
"Don't be impertinent, boy and just answer the bloody question. So how on earth did you manage the first few times?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "I asked people to read them for me. It was usually all right."  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. "You are far too trusting."  
  
"There are new merchants in the marketplace. Strangers from out of town. I won't make that mistake again," Harry said firmly. The boy did have a brain that worked from time to time, Snape allowed. He wasn't the type to make the same mistake twice.   
  
"Well we are going to rectify this matter immediately. I will have you learning how to read so you won't have to foolishly rely on the kindness of strangers ever again. And you _will_ learn, believe me. I will not tolerate any inattention or laziness on your part. Is that clear?"  
  
Harry looked quite pleased at the prospect and said, very eagerly, "As you wish!"  
  
Snape tried very, very hard not to hex him clear across the room for that.   
  
- TBC -


	3. In Which We Meet the Other Hero of Our T...

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As You Wish  
Chapter Two: The Boy Who Reads  
  
So Harry learned how to read.   
  
Actually, Snape sometimes felt that all he ever really needed to do was to teach the boy the alphabet and how the letters went together and Harry just took it from there.   
  
Harry started in with some old books that Snape had read as a child and then soon enough the brat began pestering him for more books from his library.   
  
"If I find one tiny tear on a page, one single smudge, I will carve pieces out of your hide for potions ingredients," Snape threatened.   
  
"As you wish." A careful hand gently turned a page.   
  
"Will you _stop_ saying that?"  
  
Snape could have sworn Harry smirked before burying his nose in the book again.   
  
So Harry read in the mornings before they had breakfast. And during breakfast as well, despite Snape's warnings that he would get foodstains on the book. Harry, in fact, became quite adept at eating and reading and keeping the book neat at the same time. He read in the afternoons after chores and he read in the evenings by candlelight. He read so much that he eventually needed to wear spectacles.   
  
Snape, as usual, couldn't resist scolding him, even as he gave Harry his new pair of glasses. "I told you that you were going to strain your eyes."  
  
"I know." The young man tried them on, blinked twice and then his face brightened. The glasses oddly suited him, even if they hid his lovely green eyes (Snape frowned mentally at that last thought: where in Merlin's name did _that_ come from?). "This is much better. Thank you."  
  
"I am so glad that my lessons in manners were heeded. For once," Snape said tartly.  
  
"I do learn," Harry told him. "Even if you deny it half the time." He picked up the latest book he was engrossed in, took up his place in the ratty old armchair that had been his ever since he came to live with Snape and went back to read. "There are so many worlds here…" He murmured dreamily.   
  
"What on earth are you blathering about?"  
  
"In here," Harry pointed at the book. "There are so many worlds in these pages. And different ways of seeing things. It's fascinating, really."   
  
Enthralled, that was what the boy looked like. Utterly enthralled. Snape knew that feeling once, long ago when he too had been very, very young.   
  
So he simply said, "I know." And Harry smiled at him and went back to his book.   
  
Snape went back to check the potion he was currently brewing, not quite knowing why he felt so…content.   
  
Of course, while Harry read, he _learned_ and gods, how very much he learned. This time, the brat pestered him with countless questions and came up with his own opinions which resulted in some very lively debates between them. And this time, Harry began winning quite a substantial number of those debates, a fact that made Snape feel both put out and secretly pleased at the same time.   
  
Obviously, Harry was never swindled in the marketplace ever again.   
  
Most of the people in their village rather liked the quiet young man (he was only ever mouthy when provoked and usually by Snape) and preferred to deal with him rather than his crotchety Master. He came to live with Snape when he lost his parents at the age of fifteen and the villagers were all afraid for the boy at first, knowing Snape's temper. They were all quite amazed to see the young man out and about, quite healthy and whole, with his spirit unbroken.   
  
"He's very temperamental but he's actually quite kind, really," Harry once told a concerned mother. And then he grinned, mischievously. "Just don't tell him I said that."  
  
So it was to Harry that the villagers came to when they needed medicines and other things from the Potions Master or help from the odd boggart in the closet or troll that came a-wandering into the village. And Harry never minded acting as the go-between between them and Snape.   
  
And then, there were the village girls.   
  
The giggling, swoony, silly, moony girls.   
  
Harry had no idea why they followed after him everywhere he went, sighing and batting their eyelashes and gently twirling their soft locks round their fingers. Sometimes he felt that he was rather like a mother duck trailed by ducklings. It was utterly ridiculous.   
  
Snape didn't help things either. Every time he sent Harry off on an errand, instead of saying goodbye like any other sensible person would, he would sneer at the gaggle of girls who would eventually gather at the gate (braving the Potions Master's ire and all) and say, "Hurry along, boy. Your fans await."  
  
The fact of the matter was, that unlike Snape, Harry could actually be considered one of the most handsome men in the world. Quite gorgeous, actually. There was something about his eyes, which were a lovely shade of emerald green, and the way he smiled, which could light up a room, that could quite take a person's breath away.   
  
If you told Harry all that he would laugh in your face. He knew perfectly well what he looked like and that was a skinny runt who looked a little too young for his age (he was _nineteen years old,_ for the love of Merlin!), with messy hair that refused to ever obey a comb and knobbly knees.   
  
"Raving nutters, the lot of them," Harry told Snape one day when he suddenly burst inside the cottage and slammed the door behind him, locking it securely. The loud bang almost made the Potions Master add too much wormwood in his latest potion and he swore, quite loudly:   
  
"Damnation, boy - what on earth is the matter with you?"  
  
"It's the girls," Harry said, checking the windows and twitching the curtains closed. "Off their rockers, all of them. It's mad, is what it is."  
  
"Oh for the love of Merlin, boy - they fancy you!" Snape finally said in exasperation. "Do I need to get you a new pair of spectacles and ban you from reading at night altogether?"  
  
The young man stopped and stared at Snape. "Fancy me? Whatever for?"  
  
Oh dear God, Snape thought, feeling an unaccustomed flush staining his normally pale cheeks. "Didn't anybody explain the facts of life to you?"  
  
"You're not making any sense at this point, you realize."  
  
"Watch your tongue, boy - haven't I wasted enough of my precious time teaching you manners?"  
  
"All right. Sir," Harry added quickly. "Please explain to me what is it you're talking about."  
  
Snape sighed. "The fact of the matter is that you are a beautiful young man and the little chits out there have quite noticed that and they are taken with you as a result. And if you have any sense, you'll eventually notice one of them in particular, marry her and make lots of brats of your own and I shall be out an assistant."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Do close your mouth, boy, you're spoiling those looks when you gape unattractively like that." Snape reached out with one long finger and nudged Harry's chin up.   
  
"So you think I'm beautiful, then?" Harry asked him and there was something in those green eyes that made Snape suddenly feel like one of those swoony, silly, moony village girls. He ruthlessly squashed that nameless feeling, grinding it under the heel of his dragonhide boot and forced himself to squarely meet the brat's (_young man,_ a little voice in the back of his mind corrected) unwavering gaze.   
  
"A very dispassionate observation, I assure you," Snape said quite frostily. "Don't let it go to your head."  
  
That smile again, which made that strange feeling that Snape thought he'd already squelched out of existence, come alive once more. "As you wish," Harry said then, quite cheerfully. And set about putting away the potions ingredients, not to mention the food, that he bought for the week.   
  
Snape really, _really_ wished Harry would stop saying that.   
  
- TBC -

  



	4. In Which We Learn How Silly People In Lo...

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As You Wish  
Chapter Three: The Meaning of Three Little Words  
  
  
Harry draped his arm around the shoulders of one of the village girls, a somewhat bushy-haired young lady who was a little more sensible than the rest of her peers. He whispered in her ear and she laughed merrily, a small hand coming up to cover her mouth. They had become quite friendly of late, Harry and this particular girl.   
  
Snape, watching them from the window, found that he was clenching his fists so hard that his nails were digging into his palms.   
  
Really, it was inevitable that this would happen. Even if Snape hadn't explained to him about the girls, Harry, loath as he was to admit it, wasn't that stupid. The boy was bound to put things together eventually. No, he told himself, Harry wasn't a boy anymore. He'd grown up to be a fine young man any girl would be pleased to have as a husband.   
  
Husband. A man and his wife.   
  
Now why did that thought send a pang right through his heart?  
  
"This is utterly ridiculous," Snape told himself quite sternly as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. "It's not as if you weren't going to lose him eventually."  
  
Lose him. There was that odd little pang in his heart again. If he didn't know any better, he was prepared to swear that it was almost...._painful._   
  
"Utterly preposterous," he told himself again, trying to sort out the strange new feelings that were making his chest hurt and his stomach clench, making him think of the half-formed wishes and old dreams that he'd put away a long time ago. No. Absolutely not. He was well past the age of adolescent longings and angst and stupid mistakes.   
  
He would absolutely refuse to think about what he felt when he remembered the way Harry looked when he was utterly engrossed in whatever book he was reading at the moment, or how impassioned he became whenever they had their "discussions," the way his cheeks would flush and his eyes would flash behind those round glasses, and the way Harry would smile. No.   
  
He didn't feel that way at all. No, of course not. It was just that Snape didn't think he'd ever find an assistant with half as much sense as Harry did. Yes, that was right, that made more sense. Most of the village boys were complete dunderheads and couldn't be trusted with the simplest of tasks. He'd miss having an assistant as competent and trustworthy as Harry was. And if he was honest with himself - oh, all right, he would be - he rather liked Harry's company. It would be a little... lonely now, here in his cottage, all by himself.   
  
That was all, really. He'd gotten used to having someone else about the house. Yes. It would simply be lonely. He had a right to feel lonely, didn't he? Snape was only a human being after all.  
  
But a man must earn his living, especially a man who would one day have a family....  
  
Of course!  
  
Who said that Harry would be out of a job? Snape thought, rebuking himself for being so stupid. He shook his head - perhaps he'd spent too much time breathing in the noxious fumes from some of his more potent potions - it was scrambling his wits. Of course Harry would need a job, a way to earn his daily bread. And he would probably need a dowry too, for the girl and all....  
  
So it was that Harry found his reading interrupted one day by the thump of a heavy leather bag on his lap.   
  
"What is this?" Harry asked him, looking up at Snape, who was, for once, wearing an almost pleasant expression instead of the usual scowl.   
  
"A gift for you, boy," Snape answered. "I think you will be needing it soon."  
  
Harry looked inside the bag and his eyes widened at the amount of money inside. "I don't understand."  
  
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "It's for your future, boy! Am I not right to assume that there will be wedding bells in your future? To a certain young lady? Call this an early wedding gift, if you like. And that you will still have a place here, if you wish to continue working for me."  
  
It was impossible to see the young man's expression. He was still looking down at the leather pouch in his hands. Snape was starting to feel more than a little offended. A little gratitude would be appreciated at this point. How hard was it to say "thank you" for Merlin's sake?  
  
"I'm not getting married."  
  
Oh no. Snape felt a rush of pity for the young man right then, ruthlessly ignoring the sense of elation that swept over him at the same time. The loss of first love was never an easy thing to bear.   
  
"I am sorry," Snape said then, gliding closer to the young man and awkwardly patting him on the shoulder in what he hoped would be taken as a gesture of comfort. "Broken hearts are soon mended, Harry, though it won't seem so at first." Dimly, he realized that this was the first time he had actually called Harry by his given name.  
  
"Don't be," Harry answered quite calmly. "Hermione's a friend, nothing more - almost like a sister, in fact." And that was when he finally put book and pouch aside and stood up to face Snape. "My heart is quite whole, as of this moment, though I've long given it away." He smiled ruefully, looking at the Potions Master directly. "I don't know whether he'll end up breaking it though."  
  
_He?!_ Snape could not possibly have heard that aright, did he? But Harry's eyes were speaking volumes, a wealth of meaning that Snape could not mistake and the older man suddenly wanted to sit down. And no, it wasn't because his knees were suddenly weak, no, not at all. He needed to sit down so he could grab the bottle of whisky that always sat at the small table beside his armchair. He suddenly wanted a drink more than anything in the world.   
  
"You are utterly daft," Snape found himself rasping. Where had his voice gone?  
  
"As you wish." And there was no mistaking the undertones of tenderness in both Harry's voice and expression. It was then that Snape finally realized exactly what Harry meant each time he'd said those three little words that had exasperated Snape time and again.   
  
_I love you._ Harry was telling him. Had told him each day and each night for the better part of two years. That was what it was, all along.   
  
"You are completely mad," Snape told him, crossing his arms over his chest.   
  
"For loving you?" Harry shrugged. "I rather think that all people in love are a little mad. But that's the way it is."  
  
"I am ill-favored and ill-tempered and more than twice your age!" Snape shouted at him. "This is a ridiculous infatuation on your part and nothing more!"  
  
"It is not a 'ridiculous infatuation,'" Harry answered, taking a step closer to him. Snape was mortified to realize that he couldn't help but take a step back.  
  
"You are not as 'ill-favored' as you think," the young man continued. "I love you even when you're being the most impossible, cranky, cantankerous git in the world – which is not all that you are, despite what you think. I love the way you look when you're utterly engrossed in those potions of yours, the sound of your voice even when you're telling me I'm a complete dunderhead, the way you make me laugh with your sarcastic commentary on everyone and everything, the way – " And here Harry managed a small laugh that almost sounded like a sob. "I love the way that you hide all your kindness and all your care under that sharp tongue of yours. I love everything there is about you and everything that you are is beautiful in my eyes. And yes, I also love your nose."  
  
"You are not only completely off your rocker but you are also blind."  
  
"On the contrary," Harry answered. "You were the one who taught me how to see." And he gently trailed a hand down Snape's cheek.   
  
Snape caught that hand, realizing that he was shaking at that first gentle touch of Harry's fingers on his skin. Everything that he had kept all bottled up inside, the secret feelings he'd refused to acknowledge, refused to even give a name to, were set free with that single caress. He knew them for exactly what they were now and he was suddenly, terribly sure that Harry could see them reflected in his eyes, no matter how much he tried to hide them.   
  
He had to. It wasn't right. Harry didn't deserve to waste the gift of his heart to someone as him and he opened his mouth to tell the young man exactly that –  
  
But that was when Harry kissed him.   
  
And Snape realized that he was utterly lost.   
  
Everyone knows that there is something very special about true love's first kiss. It has broken spells and conquered the darkest enchantments. It has confounded the most convoluted and terrible curses the strongest and most terrible of wizards have conjured. It has toppled kingdoms and dethroned the mightiest rulers. It has defeated darkness and death time and again.   
  
But it is also an awakening, an acknowledgement of truth finally refusing to be denied. And that was that Severus Snape loved Harry, had loved him ever since he'd turned around and found that the boy he'd once taken under his care had finally grown up into a man.   
  
And he loved Harry enough to let him go.   
  
"One year," he finally said when they parted. "I am giving you one year."  
  
"One year for what?" Harry asked him, still a little dazed from that kiss.   
  
Snape was fighting for control of his wits himself. "I am giving you one year to get out of this house, this village. I am giving you one year to see the world, to think quite carefully on your choices, on what you want."  
  
"I know what I want."  
  
"Listen to me," Snape told him, feeling quite desperate. "I want you to have a chance to think everything over away from this house, this village, away from me. I do not want you to wake up one day and realize that you have made the worst mistake of your life by choosing me!"  
  
"You're not a mistake, Severus. And there are no other choices for me."  
  
"Yes there is!" Snape insisted. "One year. See what the world has to offer you, all that I can not. Do this, please, Harry. For me, if not for yourself." He said this last sentence counting on the hope that Harry would not, could not deny him anything.   
  
He was right.   
  
"As you wish," Harry whispered and Snape could practically hear the young man's heart break, echoing the shattering of his own.  
  
He couldn't bear that. And so, against his better judgement, he offered Harry that one spark of hope. "If you are still quite sure of your choice, then...come home. Come home to me....and I shall never let you go again."  
  
And this time, he was the one who kissed Harry.   
  
It was nearly dawn when Harry left their cottage and he refused to bring the pouch of money that Snape had meant as a wedding gift from before. The young man had some savings of his own and that would be enough for him. He would take ship, he told Snape, sail away to America and seek his fortune there. And then he would come back and not ever leave again.   
  
"I am coming back, you know. I give you my word." Harry told Snape as he stepped outside the door and the Potions Master knew that Harry, stubborn, impossible brat that he was, meant to keep that promise. But he wanted Harry to have his choices, to grow up a little more, to live a life without the sort of regrets Snape had known. Even if it meant losing him to another.   
  
Snape simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak.   
  
"Wait for me," Harry said and turned to go.  
  
"As you wish." The words slipped out of Snape quite suddenly but he meant every blessed word.   
  
That earned him one last, beautiful smile from Harry and then he was off, going on his way and not looking back.   
  
  
_Katerina rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He really shouldn't have let Harry go."  
  
"Well, he thought that Harry could do a lot better than choose him," Daddy explained. "And he loved Harry very much – he wanted Harry to be happy, whoever and whatever he chose in the end."  
  
"But Harry loved him back and he's not going to change his mind!"  
  
"Well, Snape is a rather stubborn fellow," Daddy told her. "And there's still quite a long ways for them to go."  
  
"People in love can be very, very silly," Katerina declared. "Aren't they, Daddy?"  
  
"Very silly, indeed" Daddy agreed, chuckling. "Shall I continue?"  
  
Katerina nodded eagerly._   
  
  
So months passed and every week an owl made its way to Snape's cottage, bearing a letter from Harry. Harry told him of the things he'd seen and the people he'd met and ended every letter with an "I love you." And Snape finally admitted to himself that the other reason he'd sent Harry away was that he too was afraid of being hurt. That he too needed time to think and sort out his doubts and realize that he had to believe that Harry loved him completely and forever and would never, ever change his mind about him.   
  
He soon found himself counting the days until Harry would return home.   
  
But then, without warning, Harry missed his weekly letter.   
  
And then another week passed without a letter. And another. And fear and doubt slowly found its way into Snape's heart yet again. Had Harry finally realized what a mistake loving Snape was? Had he found another, far worthier person to give his heart to?  
  
It was Harry's friend, that bushy-haired, sensible girl whose name was Hermione, who gave Snape the news.   
  
"Pirates," Hermione said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They got Harry's ship off the Carolina coast."  
  
"Who?" Snape asked her, already thinking of how he could save Harry, what spells he could use, what he needed to pay if ransom was required.   
  
"It was the Dread Pirate Roberts," Hermione told him with a sob. "The one who never leaves survivors. The captain managed to send off an owl but it was too late."  
  
"And it was I who sent him out there," Snape murmured. Why was his vision so blurry all of a sudden? Why did he suddenly feel so cold and empty? "I sent him out there...when he could have stayed here, at home. Safe with me."  
  
He had a vague recollection of thanking Hermione and sending her on her way home. But that single thought – I sent him out there – stayed with him, echoing in his mind. He shivered and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself.   
  
Harry was not coming home.   
  
_I sent him out there._  
  
Harry was dead. And Snape wanted to wish that it was a clean, quick, merciful death but his mind kept conjuring up images too horrific to be borne.   
  
_I sent him out there._  
  
Snape wanted vengeance. He wanted to find this Dread Pirate Roberts and curse him into perdition, wanting to make him experience every kind of pain and suffering for eternity, to make him beg on his hands and knees for the sweet release of death. He was a wizard and he knew curses and hexes to make even the bravest man quake with terror. He'd never found much cause to use them before but he did now.  
  
_I sent him out there._  
  
He felt so utterly, utterly cold. Icy fingers closed around his heart, and it wasn't the kind, numbing sort of coldness. It was a world of pain, of darkness, of utter emptiness.   
  
_I sent him out there._  
  
Harry was dead. The man he loved was gone.   
  
Love. Snape found himself staring at an empty bottle of whiskey. Apparently, he'd finished the whole thing already.   
  
He lifted the bottle in a mock salute. "To love." And then, he hurled it against the wall, taking savage satisfaction at the way it shattered into a thousand pieces.   
  
Snape vowed to never love again.   
  
-TBC-


	5. In Which We Meet The Bad Guys

****

As You Wish  
Chapter Four: Prince Voldemort  
  
When Prince Voldemort was born, the most handsome man in the world was Prince Charming.   
  
Charming was classic "tall, dark and handsome." He'd been known to take on the odd Heroic Quest every now and then and had a reputation for awakening sleeping princesses with true love's first kiss. Actually it was all due to his lovely breath freshener which smelled like the sweetest of the first flowers of spring. What red-blooded (or blue-blooded, for that matter) princess wouldn't wake up to that? However, a first marriage, a divorce and a final, second marriage (Snow White really knew how to keep her man) pretty much removed Prince Charming from the "handsome and eligible" list.   
  
When Prince Voldemort was in the stages of "awkward adolescence," the most handsome man in the world was Prince Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood. The blonde, blue-eyed warrior prince was a well-known and legendary hero. But Legolas was also an Elf and all Elves eventually went to Elvenhome (wherever _that_ was). So he didn't stay on the list of "handsome, eligible and living on the same plane of existence" for long.   
  
So finally, in the prime of his years -neither awkwardly young or old and decrepit, Voldemort, Heir of the great wizard Salazar Slytherin, Lord of Hogwarts Castle, Prince of the great kingdom of Hogsmeade, finally made it to the top of the "most handsome" list. And why not? Voldemort was tall, fair, classically-featured with hair as dark as the proverbial raven's wings. Poems had been composed for the color of his eyes, which weren't so cliché as to be called "emerald green" but yes, they were green and yes, they were a lovely, lovely shade of that particular color. We must beg the reader's indulgence as describing Voldemort's eyes the wrong way (they seemed to glow red at times) might land us in prison or worse.   
  
You see, as handsome and charming as Voldemort was, no one dared to mention that he also dabbled in the darkest arts of magic. Everyone knew (but did not dare to speak aloud) of Voldemort's Zoo of Death wherein he collected and kept the most vicious, dangerous and venomous snakes in the world. Nor did they dare mention that Voldemort could talk to snakes and everyone discreetly looked the other way whenever Voldemort appeared, his favorite pet Nagini wound round his shoulders looking like a very exotic (but frightening) fashion ornament.   
  
No one also dared to complain that his taxes were far too high and that even the Dread Pirate Roberts, long the scourge of the Seven Seas, decided to change tactics and follow his landlocked cousin Robin Hood's example of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. He even began leaving survivors to tell the tales among the long-suffering Hogsmeade peasants and give them a little hope. Of course, Voldemort promptly squelched these tales with the help of his very, very clever PR man - Count Lucius Malfoy.   
  
On the list of handsome and eligible men in the world (his wife had died a few years ago, leaving him a very merry widower), Count Malfoy was a very discreet second. It was a mark of his cleverness and cunning that he did so, because he didn't want to make his Royal Master insecure. His most arresting feature was his fine, long white-blonde hair, of which he was rather proud of. He spent two hours a day just attending to his grooming and the rest of the population of Hogsmeade devoutly wished that he'd spend the rest of his life just doing his hair.   
  
They weren't that lucky.   
  
The Count spent the rest of the day "convincing" people of Prince Voldemort's goodness, graciousness and all-around perfection. If smooth words and clever prevarications didn't work, well, he had other means. Most sensible people simply chose to believe him, not wanting to know what he'd do to them if they didn't allow themselves to be "convinced" the first time.   
  
Now maintaining Prince Voldemort's perfection took a lot of work and between the Count and Voldemort himself, they pretty much had it pegged down as an art form. However, Voldemort was only human, with not a drop of Elven blood in his family tree, and he couldn't stay perfect for long.   
  
It started with a wrinkle. A tiny one, just at the edge of his luscious, sensual mouth, which he spotted in his bathroom mirror while shaving. Horrified, Voldemort checked and rechecked his reflection several times before finally admitting to himself that yes, it was an honest-to-Merlin wrinkle, the beginning of what was surely to be more to come.   
  
No. He would not have it. Quickly, Voldemort threw on a dressing gown and ran for his Magic Mirror (which he inherited from his cousin Bellatrix, unfortunately deceased at the hands of that whey-faced snowy bint of a princess). The Mirror was ordered to keep a running tally of all the handsome men in the world, which was fairly useful so Voldemort could keep an eye on his ranking and make sure that there were no others who could challenge it.   
  
So, dark hair in an attractive tumble round his shoulders and jewel-green eyes just barely flashing red, Voldemort stood in front of the Magic Mirror and intoned the classic chant of:  
  
_Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the most handsome of them all?_  
  
The Mirror, instructed to dispense with its own rhymes, simply flashed a list of the World's Most Handsome and Eligible:   
  
1. The Dread Pirate Roberts.  
2. Prince Voldemort  
3. Count Lucius Malfoy  
4. Baron Gilderoy Lockhart  
  
Voldemort didn't have eyes for the remaining men on the list because all his attention was fixed on the name occupying the Number One Spot.   
  
The Dread Pirate Roberts.   
  
**_The Dread Pirate Roberts?!!!_**  
  
"But he wears a bloody mask!" Voldemort screeched, pointing his wand at the Mirror, ready to shatter it into a million pieces. "And he is a tacky, unwashed, stinking pirate!"  
  
"He is young, my lord Prince," the Mirror answered mildly, all too used to his royal Master's tantrums. "And I hear he rather keeps good personal hygiene."  
  
"Which means I'm ready for the geriatric ward?"  
  
"And he's a hero! That usually bumps them up on the list. Dashing heroes always have a handle on public opinion." The Mirror continued.   
  
"And I'm not?" Voldemort shot back. "Am I not the good Prince of Hogsmeade, beloved of his people, who are all eagerly looking forward to the day I take the throne once my drunken sot of father has the good grace to finally die?"  
  
"You're starting to believe your own PR?"  
  
Voldemort hissed. "Give me a very good reason not to break you right here and now."  
  
"I know how you can maintain your perfection, Your Royal Highness. That wrinkle will soon be banished and you'll never worry about growing old and losing your looks ever again." The Mirror amended its statement. For all its coolness, it did have a sense of self-preservation after all. "Not that you were about to, but still a little precaution never hurt."  
  
"Go on."  
  
The Mirror flashed an image of a cottage and a tall, thin man with a great beak of a nose was bent over a bubbling cauldron. "Severus Snape, Your Royal Highness, the Potions Master."  
  
"Hm," Voldemort considered. "He has rather interesting features. Especially that nose. He'd actually be quite dashing, if he cleaned himself up. Though luckily for him, he'll never be able to approach me in the looks department. What can he do?"   
  
"Well, he is able to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses, bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." The Mirror paused dramatically. "Brewing a potion to make you look young and beautiful forever, not to mention the wonders of an unlimited lifespan, should be easy for him."  
  
"Immortality, eh? Hmmm…" Voldemort did know of ways to make himself immortal through his own dark arts but most of these involved the selling of one's soul to a demon (Voldemort may not have cared for the state of his soul but he didn't want to spend eternity as a demon's plaything) or complicated vampiric-effect spells that had the nasty possibility of him turning into a decaying corpse if they were ever broken. This looked far more promising.   
  
Count Lucius Malfoy was the cincher. "Severus Snape? Oh, I buy my hair care potions from him. He does fabulous work!" The Count smiled wickedly. "But his poisons are the finest anywhere. Excruciatingly painful, quick with no known antidotes. He understands the meaning of revenge."  
  
"I think I like him already," Prince Voldemort mused. "I do appreciate a man who relishes the finer things in life. Very well, have him brought here."  
  
So it was that Severus Snape was brought before the Prince for a very private audience. (It wouldn't have been good PR to nose any hint of his loss of perfection to the public after all.)  
  
The Prince told him: "I am your prince and I command you to brew me a potion that will make me live forever and keep me young and beautiful while you're at it." He had to be specific after all - one could live forever and grow ever older at the same time.  
  
Snape answered, "I am your loyal servant and I'm telling you to bugger off."  
  
That _voice._ Delicious shivers ran down Voldemort's body before he finally comprehended exactly what Snape said. He frowned, trying to regain his composure. "I could have you punished in ways that will have you begging for death before I'm done."  
  
Snape crossed his arms, "And you will still be out a Potions Master - I am now the only person in the world who knows the secrets that you so badly want."   
  
Voldemort leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, schooling his features to calm indifference. Any other man would have been hexed on the spot but that lovely, lovely honey-like voice…egads, he could listen to that voice forever, regardless of what he was saying. And up close, Snape really did look dashing, with that pale skin, long black robes that billowed gently with his every movement - all he really needed was to clean up a little…maybe wash that hair a little more and an ointment for those stained fingertips (such elegantly long fingers, though) and he'd be _fine._  
  
"Bold words, sir. I can force you to my will. I am not without my knowledge of spellcraft, you realize," Voldemort told him.   
  
"In which case we will have a very lively battle wherein I will most likely die but you will be left with permanent scars from my wand." The guards had never seen Snape move but suddenly there Snape was, arm outstretched, pointing his wand right between the Prince's eyes.  
  
Voldemort laughed, clapping his hands. He wanted this man, wanted him in his service and more…perhaps? He discreetly licked his lips and answered, "Name your price, Potions Master. Money, jewels, a noble title? I think my Royal Court can suffer the presence of a few more barons and earls?"  
  
Something flashed in Snape's dark eyes, something Voldemort found quite familiar. "The Dread Pirate Roberts."  
  
Voldemort suddenly wanted to hex Snape's head right off then and there (the Prince should be the only desirable man in the world - not that tacky pirate!) but wait - that wasn't lust or desire in the other man's eyes. It was something else entirely.   
  
Hatred. That was what it was. A dark and terrible hate that burned like dragon fire, that was as cold and as dark as winter night, utterly malevolent in its anger and rage. Voldemort thought he ought to pity the man who was the target of such hatred but as he didn't love the Dread Pirate Roberts very much at the present, he decided not to.  
  
"Vengeance," Voldemort said, understanding the man completely. "That can be arranged, Master Snape. With very great pleasure, as you will be doing me another service."  
  
Snape inclined his head. "So we understand each other, then." It was not a question, merely a statement of fact.  
  
"Oh yes," Voldemort answered, smiling. "We understand each other very, very well."  
  
Snape finally bowed, doing it quite gracefully, the first sign of deference he had showed ever since he was ushered into the Prince's presence. "Then your potion shall be done."  
  
- TBC -


	6. Two Interludes: Lucius Malfoy and the M...

****

As You Wish: Two Interludes

  
Interlude I: Intrigues and Machinations (Or In Which Lucius Malfoy Suddenly Hogs the Damn Spotlight)  
  
Count Lucius Malfoy was a victor in both the fields of battle and the equally deadly skirmishes that were common at Prince Voldemort's court.   
  
He had to be; his pride would accept nothing less.   
  
One would expect that a man who spent two hours a day doing his hair was nothing but an effete fop. The person who would think that of Lucius Malfoy did not survive very long. Often, their respective ends were very messy and terribly painful. The Count was counted among the greatest swordsmen in the world - a reputation that was earned in the blood and tears of his hapless opponents, their widows and their orphans on both the battlefield and the dueling field.   
  
In the equally vicious battleground that was Voldemort's court, Count Malfoy was also feared for his diabolical plots and machinations. He was the man people quietly pointed to when certain families fell to ruin but of course, pointing was all they could do. The Count left nothing that could be traced to him - if anyone cared to try, why, he was practically a living saint. And no one dared to contest that.   
  
It was in such a manner that the Count won his place as the second most powerful man in the kingdom, next to Prince Voldemort's side. He was quite jealous of his position and would accept no other rival.  
  
Until Severus Snape arrived.   
  
True, Prince Voldemort had ostensibly brought him in for his skill in potions - a simple service, nothing more. But he also proved to be quite clever in other matters, especially the issue of one pesky pirate. Between him and Voldemort himself, they had already given the clever rogue Roberts many near misses. Also, Snape's work in brewing Voldemort's eternal-youth-and-immortality potion was progressing quite nicely. It was a rather complicated matter and it required several exotic ingredients, some of which the Potions Master got himself but it would soon be ready and Prince Voldemort was quite pleased.   
  
This wasn't the only thing the Prince was pleased about.   
  
The Potions Master also played the game of intrigue quite well. Snape recognized the value of keeping an eye on Voldemort's Court and while his acerbic tongue could still flay alive the more witless and powerless courtiers, he'd also cleverly charmed the ones with any true significance in the running of the kingdom. That unmistakable voice must have helped, aside from the fact that the greasy-haired, sallow-skinned, beaky-nosed wizard that they brought in from the rustic country actually cleaned up quite nicely. No, he would never approach Prince Voldemort's kind of beauty (and that was a fortunate thing) but yes, he was dashing indeed. In fact, he now cut a rather romantic figure at court and Malfoy had to admit that his Royal Master had noticed _that_ more than once.   
  
An immortal prince could very well choose whoever he wished his consort to be, regardless of gender, especially since immortality would render the necessity of producing an heir to the throne a moot point. And Prince Voldemort was absolutely fascinated with Severus Snape, however cleverly he tried to hide it. It was interesting to watch, this odd little courtship where Snape treated the Prince with a simple, yet elegant civility. Of course, Voldemort found this refreshing, after the fawning flatteries and simpering from the rest of the court. And in return, the Prince did his utmost to charm the Potions Master, who apparently wasn't unaware of the other man's attraction to him after all. Snape would be weighing all the possibilities of this new development very carefully, especially now, with him rising so high in the royal favor.   
  
A Royal Consort of Snape's obvious abilities would be no mere plaything. He would be a power in the kingdom and who was to say that Count Malfoy's position would be so secure?   
  
Ah, but the Count was a clever man. There were plans to be made, bases to be covered. After all, the point was that Lucius Malfoy would come out of all this as a winner.   
  
Right now, Snape only needed a few more ingredients to complete his Potion. The Potions Master needed to make another one of those trips to secure them and Voldemort ordered the Count to ensure that his "valued friend" (_friend,_ now, not servant, Malfoy noted) would be returned to the kingdom safe and sound.   
  
That meant bodyguards and that also meant _good_ bodyguards. His Royal Master had made it quite clear that he would be most _displeased_ if anything happened to his dearest friend, Severus Snape.   
  
Reluctantly, the Count put away all thoughts of assassination from his mind. At least, not until the Prince's Potion was completed and his desires were sated. As of the moment, Snape had not placed himself in the Count's path as an enemy. And the Count required more information about the enigmatic Potions Master as well before he made his next move.   
  
So Malfoy decided to pay a visit to an old friend - the Sicilian known as Peter the Rat. The Rat had a knack for finding the best people for any job and he was clever, in his own way. And perhaps, he could be trusted for a little spying work….  
  
**Interlude Two: The Man in Black**  
  
Lucius Malfoy was not the only one with spies in Hogsmeade.   
  
He was also not the only one watching the Potions Master's every move.   
  
A messenger slipped out of Hogwarts Castle, bearing a coded message. There was no way one could use an owl - all owls were watched by Prince Voldemort and the Count - so a human being had to take it. It took a little longer but there was time to spare.   
  
The written words were nothing out of the ordinary, a letter to a sweetheart, nothing to bring any anxiety. But the hidden meaning was straight to the point:  
  
_The Iuventavitas Potion nears completion. Severus Snape sails from Dragons' Lair with the final ingredients in hand. Three guard him - the Sicilian known as Peter the Rat, an English swordsman and a giant. Be warned!_  
  
The message was borne by a simple maidservant out of the Castle, who brought it to one of the more popular inns in Hogsmeade. Out of that inn, a drunken soldier hid the message inside his wine-spattered tunic.   
  
At the port, the message was carried by a young boy, who was quickly taken as a cabin boy on a ship known to be "friendly." They soon came to a certain island that was not on any map and known only to those who were counted among a certain "brethren."   
  
The boy left his service with the captain's blessings.  
  
The island was a pirates' nest - wild, loud, mostly lawless - governed only by the Pirates' Code. And then again, it was considered to be "just a guide and not the bloody Ten Commandments, savvy?" When the boy arrived, the Pirates gave him a raucous hero's welcome.   
  
For the Messenger and the message had arrived safely. The message, in fact, had never changed hands - it had been borne by one person all along. When one was a Metamorphmagus and able to change appearance at will, it was very, very easy indeed.   
  
The Metamorphmagus, whose name was Tonks, quickly brought that message to the man in black who awaited it.   
  
"Wotcher, Captain!" she greeted him with a sunny grin and a casual salute.   
  
The Man in Black might have smiled back except that he was already reading the message passed on to him.   
  
Severus Snape would soon be able to complete the potion. The Man in Black allowed himself to consider it. An immortal Voldemort, powerful beyond measure, practically unkillable, holding sway over the hapless people of Hogsmeade and perhaps even beyond, if the information brought to him in previous messages was right. The Prince had delusions of empire and had the resources to pull it off.   
  
The Man in Black gave orders to sail at dawn.   
  
It was time for the Dread Pirate Roberts to make his move.   
  
- end interludes -

A/N: Thanks to Ljer luciusdragon for the Potion's name. And yes, I have a definite weakness for Tonks, Johnny Depp, Orlando Bloom and a certain Pirate movie. The hommage is definitely intentional. Hehe. 

  


  



	7. In Which We Finally Figure Out Who The S...

****

As You Wish  
Chapter 5: The Rat, the Swordsman and the Giant  
  
The sea was the exact color of Harry's eyes.   
  
Severus Snape did not do maudlin. Ever. He did not sigh or pine wistfully away for lost love, or fall ill from heartbreak like some swoony heroine in a bad romance novel. He kept his grief quiet and hidden, held close to his heart like a treasured, yet secret prize. The rage was easier to handle, the need to hate Harry's murderer and work for the blessed day when he could exact his vengeance a welcome distraction from the pain. He kept that rage and focused on it with a single-minded determination, never allowing anything to distract him from that anger, that hatred.   
  
Unless, something or the other reminded him of the young man he'd fallen in love with. The discovery of a well-loved book, forgotten beneath a pillow. Sorting through ingredients that were carefully labeled in Harry's spidery hand. Looking over at a ratty old armchair waiting for its owner to curl up on it again, book in hand.   
  
The color of the sea, a deep shade of emerald green that sparkled in the bright sun. The exact color of Harry's eyes.   
  
Snape suddenly hated the sight of it.   
  
He shook his head, doing his damnedest to snap himself out of it. He would not wax maudlin like some melodramatic young chit of a girl and decided that his dark mood must have been brought about by being too long at sea. He turned his attention on his companions instead, odd lot that they all were. They were rather interesting to observe.   
  
The giant was busy cooing over his latest pet, which he'd found in Mirkwood Forest on their way to Dragons' Lair. A baby acromantula, Snape knew - one of the largest species of spider in the world. The bloody things could grow as large as a horse, if not even larger - and man-eaters, each and every one. The overgrown oaf was fussing and crooning over the thing as if it were a puppy.   
  
"Hagrid," complained the English swordsman. "For the love of Merlin, could you please put the bloody spider back in its bloody jar?" The young man was looking decidedly green and that color did not go well with his bright red hair and freckles. Tall and looking like he was all arms and legs, one would be tempted to dismiss the redhead as another boy wanting to play at swords. But Snape had seen Ronald Weasley's mettle tested on their trip and he had to acknowledge, however reluctantly, that the young man's reputation as one of the world's finest swordsmen was well earned. His courage could not be doubted - unless you were talking about spiders.   
  
Ronald Weasley definitely _hated_ spiders.   
  
"Ah, Ronnie, jes' givin' Aragog here a bit of sun, is all. Sunlight would be good fer him," the giant, Hagrid, said reasonably.   
  
"The spider lived in Mirkwood Forest, one of the darkest places on earth, Master Giant," Snape said dryly. "I assure you, it will not appreciate being exposed to daylight one bit."  
  
"Yeah, what he said," Ronald Weasley seconded. "You wouldn't want to be losing Aragog there like you did Fluffy, now, would you?"  
  
Hagrid's face immediately crumpled in distress. "My poor Fluffy...how could I have known rabbit meat didna agree w'him?"  
  
Snape had never known "Fluffy" but he had heard enough of Hagrid's tale of woe over the loss of his giant, three-headed dog to know that it was time to head things off.   
  
"If he starts blubbering again," Snape warned Weasley, "I'm throwing _you_ overboard."  
  
Going pale definitely suited the freckle-faced swordsman better than green. He immediately went over to soothe the giant, who immediately stuffed the future man-eating spider in its jar. Weasley definitely waited for the giant to stuff the jar into his capacious pockets before coming closer.   
  
The Sicilian Rat had been scanning the horizon again with his spyglass. Satisfied that he could see no apparent threat, he went up to the Potions Master.   
  
"Won't be long now, Master Snape," said the odious creature, rubbing his hands gleefully and grinning a rather toothy grin. "We'll have you back to Hogsmeade and Hogwarts Castle in a blink."  
  
"Forgive me if I save my sighs of relief for when we finally step through the castle doors," Snape returned frostily. "We could still be followed and waylaid."  
  
"Inconceivable!" The Rat exclaimed, waving his arms about. "I have planned this all perfectly. We went about this journey in the utmost discretion."  
  
"Give or take our unscheduled tour through Mirkwood Forest," Snape murmured.   
  
"And everything turned out fine! You got all your ingredients, did you not? The Dragons were most helpful and quite friendly."  
  
"Until the giant tried to make off with one of their eggs."  
  
"I have planned for every contingency, sir. The Count's trust in me is well-earned."  
  
"No doubt," Snape answered with a straight face, knowing perfectly well that his every word and smallest gesture would be reported to Lucius Malfoy. The Count was taking an inordinate interest in him, especially with Snape's rapid rise in the royal favor and in the Prince's personal affections, distasteful as that last thought may be.   
  
"No one knows about our journey except him and His Royal Highness, of course. It is inconceivable, utterly impossible, for us to be followed by anyone!"  
  
"Oi! I think I see another ship out there!" the swordsman called.  
  
"And once again, we spoke too soon," Snape sighed.   
  
"Inconceivable!" the Rat cried, whipping out his spyglass again for a better look. He went chalk-white. "Pirates."  
  
Snape's dark eyes gleamed. "Roberts?"   
  
The Rat shook his head. "There are many pirates other than the Dread Pirate Roberts sailing the seas." The confident words might have sounded better if he wasn't trembling so much.   
  
"But only Roberts would be interested in me and what I am carrying," Snape shot back, his mind already working furiously. The Dread Pirate Roberts, so near...would he be able to wreak his vengeance on the thrice-damned wretch today?  
  
"We're not staying long enough to find out," the Rat answered. He barked furious orders to the two other men. "Get the sails! Make this ship go faster! Whatever it is you sailors are supposed to do around here!"  
  
"And where shall we go?" Weasley asked, already at the tiller.   
  
"Head for the Cliffs of Insanity," the Rat ordered. "Our pirates would be insane if they follow us there."  
  
"Apparently, they are," Weasley said, looking back at the horizon again. "They're going to gain on us."  
  
"Inconceivable! How could anyone be so foolish as to blunder blindly towards the Cliffs of Insanity?"  
  
Snape forebore to point out the obvious answer to that question and decided to leave them to it. Instead, he swiftly went down to the cabin to send an owl to Prince Voldemort, informing them of their predicament.   
  
In the meantime, Snape thought of revenge, and plans, and traps that could be laid. The Dread Pirate Roberts would not find them easy prey.   
  
-TBC-

  



	8. In Which Our Heroes Do Some Rock Climbin...

****

As You Wish

Chapter Six: The Cliffs of Insanity

The small ship bearing Severus Snape, Peter the Rat, Ronald Weasley and Hagrid the Giant reached the Cliffs of Insanity in record time. Weasley was a good hand at the tiller and expertly navigated the little ship through the treacherous waters, immune to the piercing cries of the Shrieking Eels that swam beneath the waves. 

Snape and the Rat prudently put on earmuffs and avoided leaning too far over the side. Neither of them were interested in ending up as Shrieking Eel bait. 

Hagrid was another matter. 

Snape spotted Hagrid just about to lower hook and line into the water and clamped a hand on the giant's beefy arm to stop him. The hook dangled just above the reach of the hungrily waiting eel below. 

"Just what, in Merlin's name, do you think you are doing?" Snape hissed. 

The giant had the good grace to look sheepish. "Well. I was figurin' Aragog could use some company…."

"HAGRID!!" This from the Rat. "You are not going to bring a bloody Shrieking Eel on board _my_ ship."

Weasley rolled his eyes. 

Hagrid reluctantly reeled the line in, muttering, "It was worth a shot anyways. Would've made up fer losin' th'dragon…."

Shrieking Eels aside, they did, indeed, reach the shore all quite intact and not without a bit of awe, staring up at the imposing sight of the Cliffs of Insanity looming over them. The things to remember about the Cliffs of Insanity were these: that yes, they were of a height so monstrous that it _was_ insane, that only a small ship could navigate and reach the Cliffs, that it was warded against all forms of magic and that the only way anyone could get up the Cliffs was to use either of the two very long and very thick ropes that dangled against the Cliffs' sides. 

It was with these in mind that the Rat could not resist gloating over a victory that he thought was all his. He stood on the shore, spyglass in hand, taking a look at their pursuer that was now, by all accounts, apparently at a standstill in the far distance, not coming any closer.

"See! It is inconceivable that their great pirate ship can reach us here!" He crowed gleefully, tucking the spyglass into his jacket. "They'll never be able to follow us now!"

Weasley, who apparently had Elf-like sight, was staring in the same direction that the Rat was, without the aid of the spyglass. "You're saying that it's inconceivable that the pirates can follow us?"

"Absolutely inconceivable. Utterly impossible, even!"

"Well, mate, you'd better have that spyglass of yours cleaned because I think they're now coming in a small boat like ours."

"Inconceivable!" The Rat's face blanched as he raised the spyglass up again. 

"If you use that word one more time," Snape growled from behind him. "I really will turn you into the snivelling, scabby, wormtailed rat that you are." 

The Rat turned to face a very irate Potions Master, whose arms were crossed across his chest, wand firmly in hand. 

"Magic," said the Rat primly, "does not work around the Cliffs of Insanity."

"We won't _always _be in the general vicinity of the Cliffs, now, will we?" Snape said silkily. "I suggest we take to the high ground, immediately, before our pirates get here. While we do have a giant on our side and I have faith in our swordsman's abilities - "

Hagrid beamed. 

"Thanks, mate," the aforementioned swordsman called cheerily. 

" - I'd rather not end up in a precarious position where we don't know our enemies' strength or their numbers. Especially as I still carry the Prince's precious potions' ingredients." Snape tapped the pouch containing said ingredients, which was slung securely across his back, meaningfully. 

" 'Ere now, let's not argue," said Hagrid, who was strapping on a specially-made harness that would enable him to carry all three of them up the Cliffs. "Let's all get ourselves out of 'ere before the pirates come."

And they got busy. A mighty kick from Hagrid's foot ensured that the boat they had used would now be useless to their enemies. Weasley assisted him in securing the harness straps and one by one, they were buckled in. 

Before the swordsman was finally strapped in, he asked Hagrid carefully, "That spider of yours isn't loose now, is it, Hagrid?"

Hagrid gave him an angelic smile. "Oh, Aragog's quite safe and comfy in his jar."

"The jar IS tightly sealed, right?"

"Oh yes – "

"Weasley," said Snape tightly, "Shut up and get on."

And that was that. 

"All aboard then," said Hagrid cheerfully and without further ado, he started climbing, with all three of them strapped to him. Of course, being a giant, the weight of three grown men combined bothered him not one bit and he climbed the Cliffs easily. 

"Now don't look down," the Rat warned them as Hagrid continued on his way up. "It's said that looking down from the Cliffs of Insanity will cause you to lose your mind."

"All right, then," Weasley said fervently. 

"Except you," the Rat told him smugly. 

The gaping fish look did not suit the swordsman at all. "Why me?" was the plaintive question.

"You haven't got much of a mind left to lose," the Rat informed him loftily. "Besides, we need to know how many pirates are following us." 

"Thanks muchly," Weasley muttered but he did, look down, all the same. To his credit, looking down from the already considerable height they were at did not reduce him to a gibbering mess. "Oi! There's a man in black following us!"

"How many others?" the Rat asked. 

"Just the one."

"Incon—" The Rat began but Snape stopped him. 

"On the contrary, it is all very 'conceivable' because it is all happening at this very instant," the Potions Master told him coldly. "We must reach the top as soon as possible, so if you don't mind putting on some additional speed, Master Giant?"

"No problem, sir!" Hagrid said enthusiastically and went even faster, the rest of them bumping along as he continued to climb. 

Weasley determinedly decided to look up instead. He may not have been in danger of going insane from looking down at the Cliffs but he was definitely looking a bit green from all the bumping and tossing about. 

"Faster, Hagrid!" The Rat ordered him. 

"Goin' as fast as I can 'ere!"

They reached the top. The rope they were climbing on was securely attached to another rock, with its exact twin on the other side. Immediately, the Rat clambered off and set about cutting the other rope loose, ordering them to do the same with the one they had just used. 

"That'll fix him!" the Rat crowed triumphantly. "And now, I shall listen to his sweet howl of despair…." And leaned slightly over the edge, hand cocked over his ear, listening for the inevitable death cry. 

Weasley leaned over as well. "He's one tough mate. Still hanging on, he is."

"What?!"

"Idiot," Snape sniffed. "He'll likely slip and fall to his death anyway." Actually, he was feeling vaguely disappointed. Surely, this couldn't be the Dread Pirate Roberts himself, now could it? One man, taking on the lot of them without any help from his men? Without a decent plan of action or strategy? Snape expected better from the man he'd never seen, but had matched wits against for the past year. This was too reckless, too foolhardy. 

This couldn't be Roberts. More likely it was one of his nitwit cronies, overeager to prove himself to his captain. Snape briefly considered waiting for the man and capturing him for the information he might give and decided against it. He may or may not make it up the Cliffs. He could also still be followed by his friends. There was no point in waiting. 

So much for revenge. 

"Wait for him," Snape instructed the swordsman. "I care not how you go about it but make sure he does not follow us. And then come after us when you're done."

"Sure," Weasley shrugged, readying his sword. 

They left him alone and the young swordsman waited. 

And waited. 

And waited some more. 

Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. He looked over the edge again, where the man in black continued his slow, laborious climb. "Mind hurrying up down there, mate?"

"I'd like to," returned the man in black. "But it is rather hard to navigate this without a rope, now is it?"

"You have a point," Weasley conceded and turned back to waiting again. He decided to sharpen his sword while he was at it. 

He dearly hoped that this man in black, whoever it was, would prove to be a challenge. It had been so long since he'd gotten a real workout, to really test his skills, to take everything he had to the very edge and beyond. 

For Ronald Weasley was more than a master swordsman - he was, at the tender age of twenty one, an artist. 

And he was getting tired of waiting. 

He looked down at the man in black again, who had made some sort of progress in the past two hours. "Hey, look, mate - how's about I toss you some of this remaining rope and help you up?"

"You'll forgive me if I don't take you up on your offer of assistance, as kindly meant as it seems to be," the man in black answered. "We are on opposing sides after all."

Ronald Weasley placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not one for kicking a bloke when he's down. I'm an Englishman - sense of fair play and all that. I give you my word and I swear by the soul of Arthur Weasley that you will reach the top alive!"

The man in black considered that for a long moment and then, gave his answer. "I do not know who is this Arthur Weasley of yours but something in your tone tells me to believe you. Throw me that rope!"

And so, Ronald Weasley did. 

- TBC - 


	9. In Which We Learn About Ron and Have Som...

****

As You Wish  
Chapter Seven: Ronald Weasley  
  
Ronald Weasley was in the business of revenge.   
  
He wasn't always so, actually. While growing up at The Burrow, back in his native England, Ronald Weasley, "Ron" to his father and younger sister Ginny, he rather thought he'd grow up to be a curse-breaker like his older brother Bill or a dragon trainer like his other brother Charlie.   
  
He even thought about becoming a pirate, like the twins Fred and George who were rumored to be serving under the Dread Pirate Roberts. But he scratched that idea as he thought he would really rather stay home and become the finest swordsmith in the world, just like his father Arthur.   
  
The business of making swords was not just a simple process of turning out serviceable blades. Some smiths did do that, mass-producing the things for knights, musketeers, mercenaries and ordinary soldiers. The blades weren't of poor quality, mind – many smiths traced their knowledge all the way back to the lost kingdom of Gondor and before that, Numenor. So these weapons were very fine indeed.   
  
But a blade that was a true work of art, that would act not only as a mere weapon but would be an extension of a master swordsman's arm – that took time and real talent. Of which Arthur Weasley had in plenty. He was a true artist among swordsmiths and his reputation was known far and wide.   
  
Creating such swords were his passion. That and his family, whom he loved very dearly. The poor man had been quite heartbroken when his wife died a few years after Ginny was born. Though he never held his sons back when, one by one, they all left to find adventure on their own, Ron knew that his father's heart bled every time he turned around to see his children grown up and ready to stand on their own.   
  
And then, Ginny also grew up and ran off with this nobleman's son. Romantic really – very Romeo and Juliet-like, except with a happier ending. (This was, of course, years before Mr. Shakespeare stumbled across the true story of the lovers from Verona and wove it into his own masterpiece, incorporating his own personal heartbreak with the Lady Violet.) Mr. Weasley was happy that his baby girl had found happiness with that charming young blonde fellow - though he wished they'd stayed around for a proper wedding.   
  
"So if you'll be leaving me, Ron, my lad, best give me a proper goodbye," he would tell his son as they worked in the forge. "I shan't mind, really. Only send me an owl to tell me how you're doing every once in a while and I'll be quite all right."  
  
"Never, Da," Ron would tell him stoutly. "I'll never leave you. We'll be together always, father and son, two bachelor blokes living the high life."  
  
At which point Mr. Weasley would laugh and ruffle his son's red hair – all of the Weasleys, without fail, had that distinctive red hair with or without the freckles. "You're a good lad, son."  
  
The course of Ron's life might have gone just like that until the nobleman with six fingers knocked on their door.   
  
At the time, Ron thought he was something of a poofter, what with that long shining blonde hair of his, but what really got their attention was that hand with six fingers on it and sword calluses on the palm.   
  
Poncy-looking as he was, he carried himself with the calm self-assurance of a master of the art of swordplay. And while the sword he carried at his side bore the marks of a caring hand, it wasn't really suited for a man with six fingers. He'd traveled far and wide, he said, looking for a swordsmith who could make him a blade worthy of his skill and he heard about Arthur Weasley.   
  
Arthur Weasley rose to the challenge – it was one that a master smith like himself was searching for all his life. He would make this nobleman a sword like no other. It would be his masterpiece – his personal Anduril or Excalibur.   
  
The good swordsmith refused to take any advance payment from the nobleman, who offered five thousand gold coins for the work.   
  
"Come again in a year's time and see the sword," Mr. Weasley told his client. "If it pleases you, then pay me the price you have named."  
  
So for a year, Arthur Weasley slaved away at the forge. He went through a hundred trials and an equal number of errors before he finally perfected his creation.   
  
It was magnificent.   
  
It was the stuff of legends. Even the Elven-smiths of Rivendell would be proud.   
  
It was, indeed, a true work of art.   
  
As promised, the nobleman returned. He looked at the sword, tested its weight in his hand, made a few experimental thrusts and then:  
  
"It is a good piece of work. But not worth five thousand gold coins. I shall pay you half and be done with the matter."  
  
Arthur Weasley, his hair prematurely greyed from that year he spent slaving away at his masterpiece, took the sword back from the nobleman and handed it to Ron. "No. I know the value of my work and I know I have made you a sword worth far more than the price you first gave me. If it does not please you then, keep your money. I will keep the sword."  
  
"I will take the sword," the nobleman told him. "I never said I wouldn't. It is simply not worth five thousand gold coins."  
  
"No," said Mr. Weasley firmly. "You haggled for beauty, for a true work of art. Keep your money. You've lost nothing; you can go."  
  
"I want my sword."  
  
"It now belongs to my son. It is my legacy to him. Good day, sir."  
  
"You are a mudblood and a fool and I want my sword."  
  
"And you're a poncy ignoramus and I pity you for it."  
  
Those were the last words Arthur Weasley ever uttered.   
  
The nobleman struck lightning-fast. Arthur Weasley fell dead with a single wound right through his heart.   
  
Ron screamed. And clumsy as he was, unskilled as he yet was in the art of swordplay, he lunged at the nobleman, his father's masterpiece in hand.   
  
He fell, of course, badly wounded by a superior opponent.   
  
"Infant," the nobleman sneered, wiping away the blood from his old sword. He picked up Arthur Weasley's masterwork and sniffed disdainfully at the blood spattered on the blade. "Stained by mudbloods. Useless toy."  
  
And dropped it on the ground.   
  
The nobleman got away of course. Money talked and it claimed that he'd merely been defending himself. His money talked so eloquently that the local judge found himself wearing rings on every finger and golden bracelets on each arm. And of course, it was so convincing that no one ever thought to ask for the nobleman's name.   
  
Ron might have died himself, except for the kindness of his neighbors. It was that same kindness that saw Arthur Weasley decently buried beside his beloved wife.   
  
When Ron finally healed, he visited his parents' graves. And taking his father's masterpiece, the sword made for a six-fingered hand, he set about the business of revenge.   
  
He learned all that he could about fencing, studying every tactic, every move. He studied with the masters in Spain. He studied with the Musketeers of France. He sought out every sword master who was willing to teach him and they were many. He studied everything he could about the art of swordplay until he could call himself a master.   
  
And all the while, he sought out the six-fingered nobleman. He had not found the man yet, not even a shadow of his presence. But Ron was sure that he was out there, somewhere.   
  
Of course, what Ron did not know was that the nobleman had sought them out deliberately. He had been quite put out when his only son and heir broke away from him and married a peasant girl – Ginny. Imagine, a mudblood in his family – polluting that long line of pure aristocratic bluebloods. It could not be borne! He had to disown his son as a result and it was so much trouble to settle down, find another wife and beget another heir. The utter inconvenience of it all. Honestly!   
  
So he came to the Weasleys and wrought his revenge, since they had the gall to seduce his son away from the family fold.   
  
However, Ron and his father never knew this and indeed, Ron would remain ignorant about the matter for a very long time to come. In the meantime, Ron made his living by the sword. Revenge was a dish best served cold but a man had to eat in the meantime. Working for the Sicilian Rat was just another in a long line of mercenary jobs he'd taken.   
  
Which led him here, to the Cliffs of Insanity, helping the man in black to climb up to the top.   
  
Ron really hoped that this "man in black" was worth it. A master swordsman just like him, a true artist of the blade – it would be wonderful to find someone to test his skills again. And the terrain here was perfect. Plenty of trees to dodge around, rocks and roots to stumble over, boulders to hop up against – why just maneuvering here alone was a true test of one's balance and footwork.   
  
This was going to be _fun._   
  
Finally, the man in black made it to the top, collapsing beside him.   
  
Ron offered a hand. "Steady on, mate. We'll wait until you catch your breath."  
  
"Thanks," the man in black answered, breathing heavily as he sat on a rock. His mask covered half his face and most of his head, neatly covering his hair. His eyes, a bright green, gleamed from the eye slits.   
  
Ron took a seat opposite him. "Why're you after us anyway?"  
  
"You carry some things of great value to me," the man in black answered.   
  
"Fair enough," Ron answered. "You're a pirate after all."  
  
The man in black smiled but did not answer.   
  
"You got your wind back now, mate?" Ron asked him.   
  
The man in black nodded. His hand went for the hilt of his sword.   
  
"Before we start, mate," Ron asked him casually. "You don't happen to have six fingers on one hand, now, would you?"  
  
The man in black frowned. "What would happen if I had six fingers on one hand?"  
  
"Well, y'see, I've been looking for a man with six fingers. Been looking for him for a very long time." Ron stood up and drew his six-fingered sword. "If you were the six- fingered man, I would have to say this:  
  
**_"Hullo. My name is Ronald Arthur Weasley. You killed my father. Prepare to die."_**  
  
Ron had been practicing that speech for a very, very long time.   
  
The man in black stood and held up two hands with five fingers on each of them. "I'm not the one you're looking for."  
  
Ron grinned and relaxed. "Oh. All right then. But I still have to kill you. It's what I'm paid for."  
  
"Sorry. M'not in a mood to die today," The man in black drew his sword.   
  
"It's a shame, really. You seem a decent fellow but those are the breaks, mate. One of us has to. Begin."  
  
Ron liked to always start off with his left hand. It wasn't really his true sword hand but it was good practice for him. And such was his skill that few men were his equal when he used that left hand.   
  
He was pleased to know that the man in black was also left-handed and showing quite a lot of skill.   
  
_Parry._  
  
He was good.   
  
_Thrust._   
  
He was very good.   
  
_Parry._   
  
He was incredibly skilled.   
  
_Jump._   
  
And good on his feet too.   
  
_Twist._   
  
By about the sixth or eighth move, Ron knew he wasn't just dealing with a skilled swordsman. He was dealing with a master. He was fighting against a fellow artist.   
  
Ron rejoiced.   
  
It was beautiful to watch them in their deadly dance across the rocky terrain, jumping neatly over each obstacle, nimbly avoiding a sneaky tree root or chance rock. Steel rang clearly against steel in its own particular song, the only music they needed at that moment.   
  
Ron drew first blood, drawing a fine cut against the man in black's wrist. But the man in black struck quick as a snake, drawing a reciprocal cut on Ron's own wrist.   
  
"Wicked," Ron told him admiringly.   
  
"Thanks," the man in black answered.   
  
"It's a pity though," Ron said. "You're very, very good and I haven't gotten a good go at this in a long time."  
  
"You're not so bad yourself." the man in black told him with a smile.  
  
"But my companions are waiting."  
  
"I'm also in a bit of a hurry as well."  
  
Ron sighed. "I'm sorry, but I really have to kill you."  
  
"You're welcome to try."  
  
"And I'm sorry I wasn't quite honest with you at the beginning."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
Ron switched his sword from his left hand to his right. "I'm not really left-handed."  
  
The man in black beamed and switched his sword as well. "Oh good. I'm not either."  
  
And the fight resumed in earnest.   
  
Ron threw every trick that he knew against the man in black and then some. He used every style he learned, from every school he'd studied from. The man in black matched him blow for blow, countering his every offense with a perfect defense and then some.   
  
And then, the impossible happened.   
  
Ron's sword went flying into the air, landing quite out of reach.   
  
He _lost._   
  
It was the first time he'd lost since he'd mastered his art. Ron found himself kneeling on the ground, bleeding from many minor wounds. Well. It wasn't the end he would have chosen for himself. He had yet to achieve his revenge.   
  
And yet, he would die at the hands of a fellow master. It wasn't a bad way to go.  
  
Ron closed his eyes. "Do it quickly."  
  
"I'd rather break my own hands before I do that to a fellow artist as yourself. It would be like desecrating a Michaelangelo." The man in black handed him a salve. "Take this and put it on your wounds. They will heal quickly."  
  
"Thanks. You're a good fellow, mate."  
  
"But please understand this – while I also like you and hold you in the highest esteem, I can't have you following me either." The man in black raised the hilt of his sword and sharply clubbed Ron on the head.   
  
Ron fell unconscious.   
  
The man in black sheathed his sword and picking up on the trail, went off into the night.   
  
-TBC-

  
A/N: So I ship a certain het ship that would be considered heresy in the Potterverse. (**waves Draco/Ginny flag) ** Heh. Sorry. 

Thanks to all of you for your wonderful reviews! I know I've officially lost whatever sanity I possessed when I began this fic. But your feedback keeps me going. (grin)


	10. In Which The Spotlight is On Our Giant

****

As You Wish  
Chapter Eight: Hagrid The Giant  


(Standard Disclaimers apply)

  
Hagrid was getting worried.   
  
Dawn was almost upon them and there was still no sign of Ronald Weasley. The giant knew the capabilities of the English swordsman perfectly well. Ron's mastery of the sword was such that it only took him seconds to take down less talented opponents. He'd once seen the man take down seven of the Cursed Pirates from the Black Pearl in fifteen seconds flat. Of course, when the opponent was far more skilled, like that nice young Will Turner fellow who'd mistaken them for a pair of pirates themselves, the battle took minutes.   
  
It must be said here that Will was one of the few people who'd gone up against Ron and lived to tell the tale. But that was because he was such a nice young man that Hagrid told Ron, quite firmly, that he'd knock Ron's head off if he killed him. Ron, good lad that he was, spared Will's life. Plus, Will was a fellow Englishman - they had to stick together now, didn't they?  
  
Anyway, it had been hours since they'd last seen Ron and that alone told Hagrid that something was Very Wrong. Hagrid wasn't stupid, despite what most people, including the Rat, thought. For some strange reason, most folks assumed that just because Hagrid was big (well, he was a giant after all) and strong (that was part of the giant package too), had a near-suicidal love for dangerous animals (that was a trait Hagrid had all his own and being a giant had nothing to do with it) and couldn't keep a secret to save his life, that he was a complete moron.   
  
Well, he wasn't. And if people had other ideas, well, that wasn't his fault now, was it?  
  
"Something's wrong with Ron," Hagrid announced to his two companions.   
  
"Nonsense," the Rat snapped. "That redheaded idiot's just dawdling as usual."   
  
Hagrid snorted. He had never liked the Rat much and if they hadn't had that rather substantial gambling debt due to Sparrow (_Captain Jack_ Sparrow, he mentally amended), he would never have let Ron talk him into taking this bodyguard job.   
  
"I doubt that he was 'dawdling,' Master Rat," Snape drawled. "We are all aware of Master Weasley's abilities - our pirate may be more skilled than we thought he was."  
  
"And Ronnie would never worry me so," Hagrid affirmed. "I'd like t'stay behind and make sure he's all right."  
  
"Inconceivable! You two louts were hired to be OUR bodyguards," the Rat spluttered.  
  
There was a flash of light and then, an outraged squeal. Hagrid winced - that really made his ears hurt.   
  
Said outraged squeal came from the Rat, who was hopping around like a mad thing, his hands clutching at a new, very long, worm-like rat's tail.   
  
Hagrid hid a grin. Perfect.  
  
"You - you - " the Rat (pardon the deliberate pun) squeaked. He was actually at a loss for words.  
  
"Boo-bloody-hoo, Master Rat," Snape said airily. He tucked his wand back into his sleeve. "I did warn you about using that detestable word one more time, did I not?"  
  
"I DEMAND that you take this TAIL away this very instant!"  
  
"But it suits you so very well."  
  
"SNAPE!"  
  
"In fact, I'm quite tempted to add the rest. You know, ears and fur and whiskers and such."  
  
The Rat was nearly purple with rage.   
  
"Hagrid might like to keep you, though."  
  
"I'm sure I've got room fer him here wi' Aragog," Hagrid deadpanned. Payback was an opportunity to be relished when it came, on the heels of all those remarks the Rat made about his general intelligence and his parentage. If the Rat cared to enquire, Hagrid's father (who was human) was very happily married to a lovely giantess (wonderful woman) and they had quite a nice life up that beanstalk until Hagrid decided to make his own way in the world.   
  
Snape was clearly enjoying this as well. Hagrid almost felt sorry for the Rat.if he wasn't such a disgusting little scuzz. "Make up for that dragon now, isn't that right, Master Giant?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
The Rat turned into an interesting shade of green. "I'm PAYING you--!"  
  
"I'm sure both our bodyguards will not fear for their wages, which were justly earned," Snape said calmly. "Prince Voldemort would be most delighted to hear of their exemplary service, I believe and a bonus is perhaps in short order -- "  
  
Hagrid beamed. He did like the snarky and cantankerous wizard better even if he WAS snarky and cantankerous. At least he was fair. And kind, in his own snarky, cantankerous way.   
  
"-- so I would not begrudge Hagrid the time he needs to look for Mr. Weasley."  
  
"Thank you very much, Professor sir!" Hagrid answered, not one to miss his cue after all. He really was very worried about Ron now - he loved that boy like a son, he did. And there was a strange sort of look in the dark-robed wizard's eyes as he had spoken.   
  
Hagrid decided that look meant understanding. Yes, that was it. Snape understood him.   
_"He really should have turned the Rat into a real rat," said Katerina decidedly. "I don't like him."  
  
"Now, kitten, you know that's not nice," Daddy chided. But his eyes were twinkling.  
  
"Niceness is overrated," Katerina announced. "A good hexing works wonders on many dunderheads."  
  
The corners of Daddy's mouth twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. "Katerina, have you been listening to your Papa again?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Daddy raised his eyes heavenwards. "Two of them. Utterly incorrigible." he muttered.  
  
Katerina giggled. "You would do it too, if you had a good cause. Last week, you hexed Uncle Dr--"  
  
"Ahem." Daddy peered down his glasses, looking quite sternly at her. "Shall we continue the story or not?"  
  
Katerina also knew the value of picking her battles and knowing when she had won. Her Papa had taught her that. So she meekly replied, "What did Hagrid do next?"_  
Well, Hagrid backtracked down the road, hoping that he would finally meet up with Ron. He had a good mind to give the young swordsman a sound scolding. Honestly - taking so long and worrying Hagrid like that!   
  
He was making several mental notes as well, one of them being never, and Hagrid meant NEVER, to play Wizard's Poker with pirates ever again. Yes, they really ought to find themselves steady, well-paying jobs. All this shifting around and being hired men was going to stop. There was always a few lords on the lookout for a giant and a swordsmen as Palace guards. The Goblin King, for example, would probably welcome them both with open arms - a dizzying Labyrinth full of traps can only serve as a deterrent to trespassers for so long. Plus, King Jareth would not mind Hagrid's menagerie - he had a lot of interesting critters of his own.   
  
Yes, that was it. No more shifting about like tramps. A new life for the both of them after this job was done!  
  
There was a lone figure on the horizon.   
  
Hagrid squinted, looking harder. There was much to be said for elf-sight but giant-sight was just as keen. This had better be Ron..  
  
It was a man. A man clad entirely in black.   
  
Hagrid's heart sank. He considered the implications. Ron would never have let this Man in Black escape him. Therefore, Ron must've lost the swordfight.   
  
Ron _lost._ Hagrid didn't want to think the word "inconceivable" but there it was. _Ron had lost._   
  
And perhaps, he was probably dead. Hagrid couldn't imagine a pirate leaving Ron alive after that battle. They were pirates after all. Scurvy dogs of the sea and all that rot.  
  
So, Ron must be dead. This Man in Black must've killed him. And he was still coming after them. And since he'd defeated the greatest swordsman in the world, he must be even better.   
  
Then again, Hagrid was a giant. He was also on the proverbial "high ground"- there were trees and boulders bigger than himself scattered about, making it perfect for an ambush. There were also slightly smaller boulders that he could lift and throw quite easily. One of these could crush a man's skull into pulp - if Hagrid didn't get his own hands on this Man in Black first.   
  
Yes, Hagrid was very angry. Hagrid was normally an even-tempered fellow and a very patient one to boot. However, killing Ron Weasley, his best friend in the whole world, would make Hagrid very, very angry indeed.   
  
The giant settled down behind a particularly large boulder and began to gather his ammunition. He had an ambush to plan.   
  
- TBC-

A/N: My warmest thanks to everyone who reviewed. I know, I know (hangs head in shame), I have taken too bloody long to update. Blame it on a surprisingly difficult giant - he kept wandering off to mess with the Dragons I keep as pets. Good effing grief. (facepalms)


	11. Brains, Brawn and Jedi Mind Tricks

As You Wish 

**Chapter Nine – Brains, Brawn and Jedi Mind Tricks**

Hagrid had a lovely collection of ammunition by the time the Man in Black was in throwing distance.  The giant paid especial attention to rocks that had these nice sharp edges, perfect for splitting heads open.   As gentle as Hagrid usually was, he still had something of his savage giant ancestors' propensity for cracking skulls and splattering brains and blood and guts all over.   

_Daddy winced as he read the last few sentences.  "Ew."  He turned the book over to look at its cover.  "I thought this was supposed to be G-rated!"_

_"DAAAAADY!!" Katerina protested.  "I'm not a baby.  More blood and gore, please."_

_Daddy leveled stern green eyes at her.  "You're getting to be more and more your father's daughter every day."_

_Katerina met his look with sweet, angelic innocence.  "Of course I am, Daddy.  Papa says I take after you – most of the time."_

_Daddy pressed his lips together and it was clear to the little girl her father was clearly trying not to laugh out loud.  "Remind me to have a little 'talk' with your other father later.  As I was saying…"_

Hagrid, of course, had much to be angry about right now and he wasn't in a forgiving mood.   He also had a very good aim.  

The Man in Black was just now in range.  

A little closer…  

Just a wee bit more…

Perfect!

Five rocks sailed over the air in quick succession.  Thrown with a giant's strength behind them, they were meant to crush and break….

Except that they were now floating in mid-air.  Hovering right in front of the Man in Black who was staring at them with a look of intense concentration.  

"Bloody hell.  That's no' fair!"  Hagrid bellowed, stepping out from his hiding place.  

He was gratified to see that the Man took a step back at his appearance.   It was fun being a giant.  

"You were about to crush my skull and other valuable body parts from ambush," the Man in Black pointed out mildly.   "I rather like having my skull and the rest of my body in one piece, you realize."

"Yer a pirate!" Hagrid howled.  "Since when do pirates know black magic?"

"Ask the ghostly crew of the Black Pearl."

"Yer behind on yer news, man," Hagrid pointed out.  "Captain Sparrow's got his ship back now and there ain't no ghosts on that ship.  Besides, the old crew was cursed, not wizards themselves."

"I happen to know a wizard or two."

"Where's your wand, then? I thought all wizards used wands."

The Man in Black looked very serene.  "I happen to know a few Jedi Masters as well.  Handy thing, the Force."

"Well, this still isn't fair," Hagrid growled.  "How's am I supposed to avenge my poor Ronnie if ye've got all that magic on your side?"

"I'm a pirate, we're not supposed to be fair." The Man in Black paused.  "Although, if you were speaking of your swordsman friend, he's quite alright.  If a bit unconscious at the moment."

Hope flared in his heart for a moment before Hagrid damped it down. He crossed massive arms over an equally massive chest (yes, he knew it made him look intimidating) and scowled (yes, it made him look even MORE intimidating).  "I don't believe you."

The Man in Black placed a gloved hand over his heart.  "Pirate's honor.  Your friend is alive."

"You pirates don't have honor."  But Hagrid really and truly wanted to believe him.

The Man in Black looked offended.  "I beg your pardon!  We happen to have a bloody Code!"

"Which is supposed to be merely a sort of 'guideline!'" Hagrid scoffed.  "I know all about that!"

"I'm bloody English! We don't hit a bloke when he's down!"

Hagrid considered that.   He had a point.  And there was something about the earnestness in this fellow's voice, most unlike the normal brand of pirate he was accustomed to running into that made Hagrid think he was telling the truth.  And yeah, something about the Man reminded Hagrid of young Mr. Turner and he did like that lad.   He prided himself on his ability to judge character after all.

"I'll grant you that.  But about the magic…"

"I am quite willing to take you on in a fair fight.  No magic.  No Jedi mind tricks.  Hand to hand.  Set our physical skills against each other's."

Hagrid smirked.  "That wouldn't be quite fair, now would it?  I got the advantage here, if you haven't noticed."

The Man offered a dangerous smile.  "I can handle myself, never fear."

And they squared off.  

Hagrid was right.  He had strength and size on his corner. Both major advantages.  All he had to do was catch his foe and he could crush him with his bare hands. 

Except that it was proving quite difficult to "catch" his opponent.   The Man in Black was fast and he evidently learned how to fight like those little Shaolin monk fellows all the way in China.  Quick, lightning-fast moves that almost looked like dancing except that every blow landed on Hagrid's body and every one of them hurt.  

Ow.

"You know kung fu," Hagrid observed, rubbing a bruised shoulder.  

"I know kung fu," the Man in Black agreed solemnly.  "You heard about that?"

"I get around m'self.  I'm not bleeding ignorant, y'know," Hagrid answered.  And once again, he went on the offensive, swinging his mighty fists.  All he needed was to land one single blow and he'd cave the Man's skull in.  Or at least give him a bit of a headache…now that Ron might possibly be alive. 

He couldn't.  

The Man however, managed to hit every vital spot on his body.  Hagrid was used to pain and he could have lasted quite a long time yet but it seemed that his smaller opponent was also inexhaustible.  And the Man was hitting nerve points that would have made a lesser man unconscious by now. 

As it was, Hagrid was getting woozy.  

A well-aimed kick brought Hagrid to his knees.  He struggled to get up.  

He felt a slight pressure on the back of his neck.  

He managed to gasp, "M'sorry, Ron" before he lost consciousness.

The Man in Black knelt beside the fallen giant and quickly felt for his pulse.  It still beat, strongly and steadily.  

At that, he smiled.  He drew a small bottle from the pouch hanging at his hip and set it beside the giant's head.  

"A potion for your aches and pains, Master giant.  You were a worthy foe."

The Man in Black stood up and went back on the trail, coming ever closer to his prey.  

- TBC - 

A/N:  Yes, it seems ALL, and I do mean ALL my favorite fandoms want to hang out in this fic.  Yes, ladies and gents, welcome to the official "tambayan" (hangout, pad, digs, flat) of Stitch's wacky imagination.  Please put tongue firmly in cheek and leave sanity and canon at the door.  


	12. In Which the Rat and the Man in Black Fa...

**As You Wish**

**Chapter Ten: The Duel of Wits**

_Standard Disclaimers Apply_

__

The Rat was a victim of that most hated of all natural laws.  
  
Murphy's Law.  
  
Everything that could go wrong just did, against all the Rat's schemes and careful plans. And he absolutely _hated_ that.   
  
Plus, Snape STILL hadn't removed his brand new rat's tail. Curse that Potions Master! Greasy git didn't even have the decency to provide him with clear ammunition that he could cheerfully report to Count Malfoy, who in turn could trump it up as treason against Prince Voldemort.  
  
Snape was definitely a challenge for the Rat's Famous Wits and the Rat had never before lost a challenge. There would be time and opportunity for some...._creative_ thinking later, against one too-smart-for-his-own-bloody-good Potions Master. Right now, Peter the Rat had a mysterious Man in Black to face.   
  
Snape had gone on ahead, leaving the Rat some pointed (and much-resented) instructions. It was insulting, really - as if Peter the Rat hadn't spent all his life outwitting and hoodwinking the strongest, the best and the brightest. The Art of the Con was his vocation and he could think of no higher calling.   
  
"Come no closer," Peter the Sicilian Rat announced grandly as the Man in Black approached. "You forfeit your life if you do."  
  
The Man in Black paused, unconsciously casting a heroic figure in the light of the rising sun. The Rat grimaced. Yes, well, they all look good. They all fight well. _But in the end,_ he thought with malicious glee, _they all fall before me!_  
  
"Dear me," drawled the Man in Black, doing an unconscious and near perfect mimicry of the Potion Master's tone and inflections. "Whatever shall you do to me, Master Rat? Strangle me with your tail?"  
  
The Rat flinched and grabbed at his twitching new appendage, furtively trying to shove it behind him. "My reputation has preceeded me, I see," he replied coolly.   
  
"Of course," answered the Man in Black. "Who hasn't heard and feared the magnificent intellect of Peter Pettigrew, the Rat of Sicily?"  
  
The Rat might have been completely flattered except that he could definitely hear the mockery in the Man in Black's droll tones. Damn him. Well, two could play at this game.   
  
"I'm afraid that I find myself disappointed, sir. I wonder why the Dread Pirate Roberts wanders far from his ship without the company of his infamous crew. You would have needed every man to get past me. As it is, this does not make me think highly of your intellect."  
  
The Man in Black - well, all right, the Dread Pirate Roberts only smiled. "It's been a pleasure to chat with you, Master Rat but I really must catch up on old times with Prince Voldemort's Potions Master. It's a pressing appointment and I would really rather not be late."  
  
The pirate strode forward and then stopped in surprise as the two of them were suddenly surrounded by a white light. The light flashed even brighter for a second and when it faded, they were seated on the ground, staring at each other over a large flat stone that served as a convenient table for a bottle of wine and two goblets.  
  
The Rat smiled. "Have a drink."  
  
"Thank you but no, I really must be going," Roberts tried to stand up but found that he could not.   
  
The Rat's smile grew wider, displaying his fine long yellow teeth. "The moment that you walked towards me, the spell was activated. We are in the Circle cast for a Duel of Wits. Neither of us will be able to leave until one has outwitted the other and killed him."   
  
"Useful trick," Roberts replied.  
  
"Oh, very."  
  
The Rat drew a vial from his sleeve. "This is a very special kind of poison prepared by our dear Potions Master Severus Snape."  
  
"Only the best, of course," Roberts murmured.  
  
"Oh, yes. This poison is odorless, tasteless and grants the poor unfortunate who drinks it an excruciatingly painful death."  
  
The vial disappeared from the Rat's hand. Then, he poured the wine in both goblets and made several complicated gestures with his hands over the mouth of each vessel. When he was done, he put both goblets side by side and presented Roberts with the empty vial.   
  
"The Duel of Wits has begun, Roberts. You must guess which is the poisoned cup. Once you have made your choice, we shall drink together and it will end with my laughing over your still-twitching, pain-wracked corpse."  
  
"You're very confident," observed Roberts.  
  
"My confidence is well-founded," the Rat said, beaming. And then, a look of mock-compassion filled his features. "Come now - I shall make it easier for you." He placed one goblet in front of the pirate and took the other. "Here - do you believe I am the sort of man who will poison his own cup or give it to his enemy?"   
  
"Truly, your diabolic cleverness astounds me," Roberts murmured and this time, there was no hint of mockery there. In fact, the Rat's nose twitched at the sweetly familiar scent of fear. Oh _yes!_  
  
"What I do is an Art, Master Pirate," the Rat told him. "Now a fool might choose to poison his own cup, for a wise man would not simply reach for what he was given."  
  
"That reasoning would be sound."  
  
"But then again, I might play the fool and keep the poison in my own cup, so that I may further confound you."  
  
The pirate stirred uneasily. "I might have done it in your place."  
  
"But then again, you have beaten my giant which suggests that you are stronger than the average man. You may have it in you to defeat the poison."  
  
"You're stalling," the pirate bluffed and the bluff was so obvious that the Rat wished vainly that this was a game of poker instead - he could really use the money.   
  
"And yet, you have also defeated my swordsman and the art of the sword requires not only physical strength but intellectual prowess. Therefore, you may choose not to trust your strength to such a powerful poison, especially since it was made by the hands of Severus Snape."   
  
"One must never underestimate Severus Snape," the pirate agreed and the Rat relished the fear that the former could no longer hide. Ah, this was the moment he lived for - bringing the Dread Pirate Roberts himself to his knees.  
  
The Rat could barely keep himself from crowing. "Ah well, only a true genius can solve this riddle and as I am the genius and you are not, you can only stretch your limited intelligence so far...."  
  
"You're the one with the rat's tail, sir." The pirate smiled weakly. "I believe I can already make my choice."  
  
"Well? Go on. Pick, choose - time's a wasting and I really must stretch my legs, this hard ground is most uncomfortable." The Rat rubbed the small of his back with a theatrical groan. Then a strange look crossed his face and the Rat pointed off just over the pirate's shoulder. "Merlin's beard, what is that?"  
  
The pirate turned and looked behind him. "I don't see anything."  
  
The Rat waved a hand, "Ah well, my mistake. Shall we drink?"  
  
"Of course," said the pirate. And he picked up his goblet.   
  
The Rat took up his own.   
  
They toasted each other and drank.  
  
And then, the Rat began to laugh.  
  
"What so funny?" the Dread Pirate Roberts asked.  
  
The Rat cackled gleefully. "You fool! You chose wrong!"  
  
"Truly?"  
  
"Oh yes! You fell victim to one of the most classic blunders! I switched the goblets while you weren't looking! You pathetic fool!"   
  
And the Rat laughed and laughed and laughed until his laughter turned into shrill, squeaking, agonized cries of pain. His body twisted and turned until the pirate could hear his bones cracking and then and only then he fell dead.  
  
The Dread Pirate Roberts found that he could finally move and so he stood up, dusting off dirt and grass. "Again, this was your best work, Potions Master," he said aloud.   
  
The air behind him seemed to shimmer and then, Severus Snape appeared. Roberts turned to face him.   
  
"The wine," Snape said casually, "was already poisoned. The Rat was getting to be an inconvenience. But I wonder why you're not dead."   
  
"The Universal Antidote," the pirate answered mildly. "I've known some very skilled Potion Masters in my time."  
  
"Very good," Snape purred. "Because I was really looking forward to killing you myself. And trust me, I shall make it as slow and as painful as possible." 

-tbc-

A/N: Apparently, ff.net went wonky on me and did not upload my newest chapter. Hope this works. Again, my thanks to bookwyrm and Frances for helping me break through the block and work this chapter out. Also, thank you to everyone who's reviewed and for their patience. Never fear, the next chapter will be out very very very soon. Hehe.


	13. In Which The Potions Master Gets Revenge...

As You Wish

Chapter Eleven: Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold

Severus Snape had spent a long time contemplating his vengeance.

He had carefully and meticulously studied each and every possibility that could have led him to this moment, this point where he could confront the Dread Pirate Roberts and call him to account for what he'd done. He had a long list of things he wanted to do to the murderous wretch, prepared noxious brews that would set fire to a man's insides and render them into mushy goo, made a careful study of any and all hexes that were guaranteed to turn its victims into gibbering wrecks.

Snape wanted the Dread Pirate Roberts, this self-styled "hero of the people" to _suffer_. He wanted the murderer of his beloved Harry to spend eternities redefining pain and torment.

And so he quickly drew his wand and spoke one of the most painful Curses in his repertoire – one that many wizards deemed Unforgivable.

"Crucio."

The sheer agony from the continuous application of that Unforgivable Curse alone had driven many a person mad. However, Snape wasn't going to be contented with just that. He'd worked hard over that list after all.

And he definitely wasn't inclined to be forgiving at the moment.

However, the pirate nimbly dodged out of the way. Snape was about to cast the Curse again when the pirate shocked him by drawing out his own wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape was no longer blessed with a young man's reflexes and he'd been too surprised to find out that the Dread Pirate Roberts was capable of spellcasting. The spell knocked him off his feet and neatly divested him of his wand.

The pirate picked up Snape's wand, keeping his own trained on the Potions Master. "Hand those potions ingredients over."

Snape sneered. "You should have cast the Killing Curse on me, pirate, instead of a simple Disarming Charm. I do not need a wand to kill you."

"I don't want to kill you. I just want to keep you from making that potion to turn His Nibs Prince Voldemort immortal. Wouldn't want him to become a permanent plague upon the face of the earth now, do we?"

"Ah, don't like competition, do you?" Snape returned silkily. "Want to try out that potion yourself?"

The pirate smirked. "Sorry. M'not very good at potions myself."

"So that's why you wish to spare me," Snape drawled. "You want me to make the bloody thing for you. Two words, pirate: Bugger. Off."

The pirate snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Snape. You'd have handed me poison in an instant and knowing you, it would be something I've never heard of before so I would never have been able to tell the difference in time. No – the fact of the matter is this – I simply do not want to kill you."

"Fine words coming from a murderer."

"That's a bit of the pot calling on the kettle, isn't it?" The pirate's voice hardened. "How many deaths have you caused with those poisons of yours, all at Voldemort's command?"

Snape shot to his feet, noting with grim satisfaction how Roberts took a cautious step back, staying out of arm's reach. "Do not _presume_ to judge me, pirate. The rest of common folk might be fooled by this new heroic pose of yours, but I am not. You are still the same thieving murderous bastard who's terrorized the seven seas. The only difference between you and Voldemort is that you've got yourself a ship and he's got himself a castle."

"So why do you choose to serve Voldemort, Snape? Is the pay much better?"

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. "It was a good bargain. My services in exchange for _you._"

"I'm terribly flattered," the pirate said slyly, "but I'm sure I can offer you something much better in exchange. You'd thrive better in sunshine and fresh sea air than in Voldemort's dark cold dungeons."

Good god, Snape thought, that fool couldn't possibly be - "Are you actually trying to _recruit_ me?"

"Shanghai you, actually," Roberts answered cheekily. "We could always use a Potions Master among the crew."

"I'm afraid I must decline," Snape answered, seething at the sheer gall of the man. His hands twitched, wanting very much to wrap around that man's neck and squeeze. "The debt you owe _me_ is far more than you can ever repay."

"I owe _you_ a debt? I'm afraid I can't recall anything of the sort."

Yes, forget the hexes and potions. It would be much more satisfying to break the bastard's neck. "Liar. Think back, if you can, Roberts, to one of your many innocent victims. A boy. A beautiful green eyed boy whose only mistake was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The pirate's lips twisted into a sneer, not missing the emotion in Snape's last words. "Can it be? Does Voldemort's pet poisoner actually have a heart? Does he love this poor lad I've supposedly dispatched to the hereafter?"

Snape cursed himself for giving too much away. But before he could frame a suitable retort, the pirate continued:

"Now that I think of it, I do remember the lad. Begged for his life, he did. Had nothing of value for me to steal - what he had was a mere pittance. I asked him why I should let him go and he answered 'true love.' A sweetheart waiting for him at home. Someone he had to prove himself to. Thought I'd spare him finding out what a shallow chit she was and put him out of his misery." The pirate laughed. "Never tell me that it was you!"

"You. Bastard." Snape was shaking. He wanted to tear the man limb from limb, as slowly and as painfully as possible. "I wanted to die that day when I learned he was gone. Silly, stupid boy...I prayed he'd grow out of his foolish infatuation and find some other person worthy to love. And he never got that chance. Because of YOU, Roberts."

The words continued to pour from him in a heedless, impassioned rush. "But I chose to live one more day and forced myself to exist through the next one and the one after that. One more day…one more bloody day until I can get my hands on you."

And then, Snape bared his teeth in the barest approximation of a smile. A feral snarl was closer. "This is one more day. With or without my wand, I'm going to kill you. And then I shall have one more day after another until I've presented this potion to Voldemort, and finished my part of the bargain. And after that I I care nothing if Voldemort takes over the world or damns it into perdition or both because nothing, NOTHING is worth anything now that my Harry is dead!"

The pirate seemed stunned. "So this is why, Potions Master. All the deaths and all this pain and suffering by countless innocents, all at Voldemort's command...it was all your vengeance, for your lost love." There was a strange, odd note in the pirate's voice now but Snape was not about to be troubled thinking about it.

"The Dread Pirate Roberts, now a so-called Champion of Light and Good and Justice." Snape rasped. "What will you pay for the taking of an innocent boy's life? Will you suffer for me, my fine young hero? Will you take all the days I hurt and raged and wept and suffer them in my place?"

The pirate closed his eyes for a moment (strange, Snape thought, that they were the exact same color as Harry's were) and then, smiled this sad, achingly familiar smile. "As you wish."

And then, he deliberately turned and threw himself down the mountain.

Oh God. It couldn't be, it just couldn't…Snape didn't want to believe it.

He wanted to believe it….

"Oh bloody hell," Snape whispered. And he found himself picking up his wand, which the pirate had dropped to the ground in his foolhardy jump.

And then, he threw himself in after him.

Of course, Snape had the sense to use levitation charms instead of rolling down the mountain and chance the possibility of breaking his neck. He thought he'd taught Harry that much of common sense.

Fortunately, the mountain side was grassy and blessedly free of rocks and other debris. Snape found the pirate lying down on the grass, the mask ripped off in the fall.

The face had matured, age and experience having left their clear mark. And there were bruises and an angry red scratch down one cheek. But Snape knew him, knew that it was still his beautiful green-eyed boy….

He knelt by Harry's side, wanting to touch him, wanting to affirm that he wasn't dreaming, that this was all real. But he found himself asking one single question and it was all he needed to say at that point.

"Why?"

The green eyes that squarely met his own were suspiciously bright. But Harry's voice was clear and unwavering as he listed his reasons.

"Because I thought Voldemort had corrupted you.

"Because I thought that the man I loved was no more.

"Because I wanted to prove myself worthy of you, to be equal in your eyes. Not the boy you once took care of."

Hesitantly, Harry raised a hand and traced a shy, tentative finger down Snape's cheek. "But I've been the worst kind of fool...and I squandered what you gave me. I am sorry....so very sorry....and I say this with no expectation of forgiveness."

"I thought I lost you," Snape whispered.

"I thought _I_ lost _you,_" Harry answered.

"You. Idiot."

"Well?" Katerina demanded.

"Well what?" Daddy asked. He looked a bit pink.

"They're supposed to kiss, aren't they?" Katerina said in exasperation.

"Yes. Well." Daddy pushed his glasses up his nose, his cheeks still that suspicious rosy hue. "They do. Kiss. I mean."

"DAAAAADDDY!"

Daddy took up the book again, scanned that particular page and muttered, "G-rated. This story was supposed to be rated for children, for Merlin's sake…."

"Daddy!" Katerina wailed again.

"You seem VERY interested in the kissing parts, young lady," Daddy said sternly.

Katerina crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. "I'm a girl. I'm supposed to be interested in the Kissing Parts."

"Two words: Convent. School."

She waved a hand airily. "Well? Go on!"

"Ahem…"

The memory of their first kiss was one of the very few things that kept Snape going for all those long, empty, hurting days. It was all he had left – that first kiss and then, the second one he stole, just before Harry went away. He cherished each and every detail of those few precious moments where he'd committed the taste and scent and the sweetness of his beloved to memory.

And this third kiss that they were sharing now made up for all those lost days, for all those painful nights. For one moment, Snape knew he was whole and he was home and he was with Harry again. He was still angry and he knew that there was a lot of things that Harry needed to tell him (not to mention that he needed to see how badly his beloved idiot was hurt).

But now Severus had this kiss, this one perfect moment where everything was all right with his world once more.

-tbc-

A/N: Someone asked if I could use the "five best kisses in the world" line. Goldman said it much better than I ever could and I'd hate to just flat out copy that. But this is my attempt to evoke it. I hope I succeeded. Hee. Just to tide the rest of you guys over for the next chapter (and those I've told the answer to, please hush! hehe) - what is a W.O.U.S.?

Again, thanks to bookwyrm and Frances for their support while I wrestled with this chapter! Ladies, you definitely ARE among my muses!


	14. In Which Prince Voldie Throws a Tanty

**As You Wish  
Chapter Twelve: Papa Joins the Merry Madness; "Hastley" Gets a Temporary Reprieve**

_"Is this a private party or may I come in?" A familiar, well-beloved voice purred from the doorway. _

Katerina was delighted. "Papa!" And then she scowled, looking, had she been aware of it, so remarkably like Papa in one of his "moods" that Daddy had to turn away to hide a smile. "You didn't bring any more icky potions for me to drink, did you?"

Papa smirked. "No 'icky potions,' bratling - at least not right now."

"Then you may join us," Katerina announced grandly.

"Yes, your highness," Papa mocked lovingly and with a practiced flick of his wand, lifted Katerina off the bed, blankets and all, making her squeal in delight. He then proceeded to make himself comfortable in her place, sitting next to Daddy, who was watching everything with barely concealed amusement.

"Oi!" Katerina said in mock indignation, still floating in the air. "What about me?"

"Oh, were you up there, bratling?" Papa said absent-mindedly, doing a very good impression of Daddy at his daffy best - something which Papa said Daddy got from Grandpa. He held out his arms and Katerina floated back into his lap, cuddled comfortably between him and Daddy. "There, that's better, isn't it?"

She giggled. "Daddy was getting to the Good Stuff in this story."

Papa raised an eyebrow and looked at Daddy. "The Good Stuff?"

"You know," Katerina said. "The kissing stuff."

Papa's dark eyes went wide. "Isn't she too young for the...er, 'kissing stuff?'"

"I am NOT too young!" Katerina protested. "I'm a girl! Of COURSE I like the kissing stuff in stories!"

"What have you been reading to her?" Papa demanded of Daddy.

Daddy rolled his eyes, his cheeks stained just a bit pink. "Honestly, love - it's not as if she DOESN'T see US... um, 'kissing' all the time."

"A child feels secure and loved when she sees her that her parents love each other," Katerina declared in her best imitation of Aunt Hermione. Which made Papa choke and Daddy laugh. "So there."

"In any case, I already threatened her with convent school," Daddy said wryly.

"As well you should!" Papa said sternly. "Immediately. As soon as she reaches puberty."

Katerina rolled her eyes. "Silly Papa."

We shall leave Harry and Severus for the moment, just to give them a bit more privacy with their long-awaited reunion and also because Harry has some Serious Explaining to do to his beloved, something that he is not really looking forward to.

_Katerina giggled. "He's so doomed." _

Papa arched a brow. "This seems all too terribly familiar, doesn't it?"

Daddy glowered. "Would you two like to go on with the clever commentary or shall I continue the story?"

"Well, we didn't tell you to stop, did we, bratling?" Papa pointed out in what for him was a reasonable tone, making Katerina giggle even more.

Daddy sighed, being very much put-upon and knowing he was quite outnumbered.

As I was saying, we must temporarily take our leave of Harry and Severus, as we can not forget about Prince Voldemort and Count Lucius Malfoy - not that they would have allowed us to forget them, no matter how much we would like to.

Severus' owl had reached the Prince very quickly and he had gathered the Death Eaters - as the most elite of his soldiers were called, and the rest of his army to Severus' rescue on land whilst the Prince's Grand Armada prowled the seas for the _Revenge_ - the Dread Pirate Roberts' famous ship. With the Prince's considerable magical skill, he and his men had reached the Cliffs of Insanity in no time at all.

Voldemort was quite annoyed that the Cliffs rendered it impossible for him to employ any more magic at that point and that he would have to do that most tedious of chores - track his quarry the old-fashioned way. Not that he was a bad tracker - in fact, he was a master of the craft, as he was of everything else he put his mind to. And so he carefully inspected the top of the Cliffs, mentally cataloguing the signs he saw there.

"A duel was fought here," he announced. "By two master swordsmen, at the very least. Your Rat has rather a good eye for picking his men."

Count Malfoy felt a chill snake its way down his spine and it wasn't for the first time. As always, it seemed that the Prince had seen right through his schemes, no matter how careful he had been going about it. Damn!

"As always, milord Prince, you know everything," he murmured, congratulating himself on keeping his voice steady and his expression bland.

"Aha!" the Prince exclaimed, pouncing on yet another sign that only he could see. "It seems that the Rat's prize swordsman was defeated. Perhaps the Rat was not quite so lucky in his choice of men after all."

"Defeated? How can you tell, milord?" Count Malfoy asked.

"He was defeated but left alive - I rather doubt that the Rat's swordsman would be so stupid or -- " here, the Prince shuddered, " -- _noble_ enough to leave his enemy still standing. So I would say that the Dread Pirate Roberts would be the only one suffering from such a surfeit of heroism."

"It will be his downfall, I imagine," Count Malfoy remarked, being quite disapproving of the famous pirate's sudden descent into heroics himself. He preferred complete and total destruction of his enemies when things came right down to it - less messy that way.

"Obviously," Prince Voldemort sniffed. "He was only a minor annoyance until he decided to try the hero business. Now he's a complete and utter pest. I can only hope my Severus wasn't completely inconvenienced by this fellow."

Count Malfoy tried not to cringe overmuch at the possessive tone in which the Prince said "my Severus." Damn that Potions Master for ursurping a place that the Count felt rightly belonged to him!

They left the Cliffs only to come upon the place where the Dread Pirate Roberts and Hagrid the Giant had their duel. And it wasn't long before Prince Voldemort was about to pitch a screaming tanty.

"AGAIN with the heroics! Salazar's hairy balls! All this chivalry is positively making my skin crawl!"

"What vexes you so, my lord?" Count Malfoy asked solicitiously.

"He defeated the bloody giant! And left him alive! Why can't this bloody pirate grow up and ACT like one!" the Prince raged.

"Well, defeating a giant certainly gives him more points on his Hero Card," the Count mused.

"I loathe Heroes," snarled the Prince. "I _despise_ them utterly. Malfoy! Remind me to make a law banning any and all heroes from my kingdom."

"So noted, my Lord Prince."

And finally, they came upon the twisted, gruesome remains of Peter the Rat.

"Oh," said the Count in relief. "Finally. Someone's actually _dead._"

Prince Voldemort sniffed. "Well, it's hardly the work of our Hero Pirate Roberts. Look at his face, the lovely rearrangement of his limbs, where you can see the broken bones... the color of his skin. It's my Severus' handiwork through and through."

"Surely not!" the Count said in outrage. "We sent him the Rat to protect him."

"Do try not to patronize me, Count," answered the Prince dryly. "I'm sure my Severus was aware of the Rat's other...purposes as I was. Or perhaps the Rat was caught up in his own cleverness - my Severus would not be so foolish as to terminate his existence without need. I've yet to teach him the value of wasting life for one's enjoyment."

"I am duly chastened, milord."

The Prince turned to look down the mountain side. "One body fell from here and I smell traces of a levitation spell. But they are no longer on the bottom. The quickest way out of this place is through..."

He looked at the grim-looking landscape of trees beyond them, an infernal, sulphurous hell where steam ominously wafted up to the rapidly darkening sky.

"The Fire Swamp, my lord Prince," the Count finished for him. "And Apparition Spells are rather difficult to use so near to it."

The Prince smiled. "There are other ways to get around the Swamp, especially when one has a ship to get back to. I'm sure that a man who's defeated a master swordsman and a giant, no matter how hopelessly heroic he can be, can handle the dangers of the Fire Swamp. And I have every faith in my Severus - who I'm rather sure may be leading this fellow on a merry dance indeed."

"Of course, my lord Prince."

The Prince's smile turned unpleasant. "I do hope they would not find it too terribly difficult in there... especially since there will be a full moon tonight."

-tbc-

UP NEXT: The WOUS and the DOUS. And yeah, the Serious Explanation. XP

**NOTES/HBP Spoilers:** Since _As You Wish_ was begun way before HBP, I'm not going to follow the new canon set in there... except for some Certain Bits and I'm sure you guys would understand why I want to use the notion of "The Half Blood Prince" in this wacky fairy tale, right? However, a Certain Dafte Olde Coote is alive and well in this ficverse and he's staying that way. No, I'm not in denial and I'm certainly going to use the new canon in other stories that aren't part of the Fluffverse. But since I've already begun with Ye Dafte Olde Coote alive and kicking, I have to finish it that way.


	15. In Which Harry Seriously Explains

**As You Wish  
Chapter Thirteen: Harry Seriously Explains**

Many people would have considered Harry Potter as the bravest man in the world.

At least, if they had known that he was the Dread Pirate Roberts. In his rather spectacular career as a pirate (and even Captain Jack Sparrow had to tip his hat to the "audacious sprog"), he'd faced down dragons, sea hags, seductive mermaids, other pirate captains of fearsome reputation, sea monsters of various kinds, hurricanes, tidal waves, curses, hexes and other sorts of peril with a cool head and a stout heart.

However, the prospect of Seriously Explaining Things to his One True Love was rather terrifying.

Especially when that One True Love happened to be Severus Snape.

Who, after ascertaining that Harry's injuries were minor (some scrapes and bruises but nothing life-threatening), was now impatiently waiting for him to talk with that familiar raised brow.

"Well? Being as I taught you myself how to read and write, I'm sure you have a very good explanation as to why I've not received but even a paltry note to assure me of your continued existence over the past few years."

Harry sighed. "What I'm about to tell you is true, every word of it. But I'm afraid you're not going to believe me."

"_Believe me,_ Mr. Potter, after everything we've both been through, I'm likely to take you completely at your word," Severus drawled. And then, his voice and expression softened just the tiniest bit, something only Harry would have caught. "And you've never lied to me before."

Harry took a deep breath. And began his tale.

Now it should be obvious to the Astute Reader or Listener of this Tale that the Dread Pirate Roberts was merely an identity assumed by several men over the years and that Harry was only the latest in a long line to wear the mask and command Roberts' merry crew. In fact, the last fellow to be hailed as the masked rogue happened to be Sirius Black.

"Black!" Snape spat. "I should have known he was at the bottom of this!"

Harry blinked. "You know him? He's my -- "

"Your godfather, yes. Unfortunately for you, he'd taken off just after you were born, shirking his responsibilities as your godfather so I ended up taking you in when your parents died."

"Well, I thought he was dead - Dad used to tell me all sorts of stories about him. I'd always wanted to meet him."

Severus sniffed. "And so you did. Now i'm beginning to dread the rest of this sorry tale."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes.

Sirius Black had found Harry strangely familiar and contrary to the Dread Pirate Roberts' usual habits, had taken the young man prisoner. When Harry had tried to fight for his freedom, Sirius had given him a mighty blow to the head that had knocked him senseless for at least three days. Too late, Sirius had recognized his long-lost godson, finally seeing Harry's resemblance to his late father James.

By the time Harry had finally wakened, he had no memory of his past, only his name, which Sirius himself had given and Harry had accepted because "it felt right." And thus, his godfather had taken Harry under his wing, teaching him the tricks of the trade and introducing him to the merry crew of the Revenge, warning him to be careful of the pranks courtesy of the infamous Weasley twins Fred and George.

Harry was an apt pupil and it wasn't long before Sirius declared that he could finally retire and "look up an old and dear friend" who he hadn't seen for a long time. And thus, Harry had become the new Dread Pirate Roberts, sailing the Seven Seas and deciding to take the notorious pirate's career in an entirely new direction, especially since he'd begun to hear of Prince Voldemort's nefarious reputation as a wicked and oppressive ruler.

"And then, while in port at Hogwarts and going 'round it incognito, I saw you standing by his side," said Harry quietly. "Everyone was telling me about you, Voldemort's feared Potions Master and quite possibly his new right-hand man. And - _I knew you._ I remembered everything in that instant, remembered how much I loved you but then I was afraid you had changed, that --"

"You were horrified," Severus interrupted him, his voice quite steady despite the fact that he was quite pale and that he was shaking all over. "You were a hero, as you were always meant to be and I -- " and here, his lips twisted in what might have been a bitter smile. "-- I am hardly true nor pure of heart nor even remotely heroic. I have never been a nice man, Harry Potter and I am quite sure that you understand that quite completely now."

After he thought Harry had died, Severus had been so bent on his vengeance that he had hardly paid any mind to any of the dark deeds he'd committed in Voldemort's service. He had hardly cared for the slow, insidious destruction of his soul, his very self, because Harry was dead and everything else had been meaningless to Severus. He had never really thought about Harry being alive.

But of course, Harry was here, living, breathing, if only slightly the worse for wear and Severus felt something shatter in himself, in the place where his heart used to be. And so, once again, he steeled himself and walked away from Harry for the very last time.

He walked straight into the Fire Swamp.

-tbc-

A/N: cowers in terror Don't kill me! I don't know where all this angst came from! I haven't even read Half Blood Prince yet!

Yes, the next chapter is definitely coming up! ASAP!


	16. In Which Snape Does the Drama Queen

**As You Wish  
Chapter Fourteen: Drama Queens, Snow Sand & the W.O.U.S - Oh My!**

"Severus, wait!"

Inwardly, Harry cursed himself. In his rather spectacular career as the Dread Pirate Roberts, talking one's self out of trouble was a skill that he had honed into an art form. However, much to his chagrin, just a few minutes in Severus Snape's presence and he was that callow boy again who tripped over his own tongue the minute he heard that honey-dark voice.

Perhaps he was also quite distracted because of the kisses they had just shared, especially since he'd been dreaming of those kisses and more besides all the time they had been apart. This was quite true, even when he could not remember his past, because then he would still dream of dark eyes, That Nose and That Voice.

And now, as he ran after his beloved, Harry was also quite worried because it seemed that Severus Snape had forgotten the various perils to be found in the dreaded Fire Swamp.

Because of the unusually large amounts of sulphur and other gases to be found in a Fire Swamp, the hapless visitor can always expect to be surprised by the spontaneous and sudden appearance of balls of flame right in their path. This was something Harry and Severus, even in his current state of misery, could avoid perfectly well, being as they were not helpless damsels in distress and also because they were warned by the ominous popping noises that heralded the appearance of the fire balls The Hogwarts Fire Swamp was also known for its wide variety of dangerous fauna and flora, often poisonous and quite useful in many potions.

But most of all, the Hogwarts Fire Swamp was notable for two things. One of these things was the presence of Snow Sand. Snow Sand is not to be confused with Lightning Sand - as the latter is very moist and destroys a person by drowning them. Snow Sand is this powdery, insidious substance that gets into one's eyes, ears, nose, mouth and other orifices and suffocates a person.

Now we have stated quite emphatically that Severus Snape is not a hapless, silly, damsel in distress who runs off and gets himself into trouble in less than five minutes. He was a powerful wizard who could invent spells even as an adolescent, a Master of Potions and quite possibly one of the most dangerous men who ever lived.

However, he was reeling from all the emotional upsets that he had been getting all throughout this adventure - rage, thwarted vengeance, sheer relief at finding one's True Love alive and well, shattered hopes and a broken heart. Perhaps, it was quite understandable that Severus, whose eyes were most definitely _not_ blinded with angry tears (they were only quite wet from the damp weather), had not seen where he was going and had fallen right into the Snow Sand.

_"That's a monstrous calumny!" Papa objected quite loudly. _

"Is it my fault that Severus is being such a drama queen?" Daddy pointed out, not without the faintest hint of smugness in his tone.

Papa huffed loudly and opened his mouth to make another scathing protest but he found himself stopped by a tiny hand.

"Papa," Katerina said quite sternly. "I want to hear the rest of the story. Behave yourself and SHUSH."

"Yes, your highness," Papa submitted quite meekly.

Daddy stifled a grin.

Severus did not allow himself to panic. He spread his arms and legs, forcing himself into the position of a dead man's float so that he could slow his descent into the Snow Sand's depths. He was a wizard; it would be a simple thing to summon his wand and levitate himself out of the bloody deathtrap.

Although there was a part of him that was truly tempted to let himself sink and sink forever, to let the sand cut off breath and life and slowly strip away the flesh from his bones...

He felt the familiar tingle of magic surrounding his body and before he knew it, he was floating free of the Snow Sand and gently laid on the ground, coughing and sputtering and breathing blessed, if slightly sulphurous air, at last. Harry was at his side, brushing off the rest of the sand, his face quite white and his lips set in a thin line.

Severus pushed him roughly away and stood up, breathing quite raggedly. "I am not one of your silly, helpless chits in constant need of rescue, Mr. Potter - I could have gotten myself out of that Snow Sand quite without your help, thank you."

"Of course you could," Harry told him quite sweetly. "Just as you managed to fall into it without any help from me, as if you haven't lectured me about the dangers of the bloody Fire Swamp for YEARS!"

"Stop patronizing me," Severus spat at him. "You're quite free to take up your Heroic Mission once again and you don't need to worry about me running back to His Nibs Prince Voldemort. I'm quit of my brief stint as an Evil Villain's Right Hand Man. I've quite enough sense not to stand in the way between him and the Great Hero of the Tale!"

"You're an intelligent man, Severus Snape," Harry retorted. "What part of I love you and I always will, no matter what, did you not understand?"

"You know what I did! You know what depths of depravity I sank to in Voldemort's service! What on earth would possibly make you think that you can still love me after that!" Severus bellowed.

"Because even without knowing your real motives for serving Voldemort, I still loved you. And I came all this way knowing that I would either stop you and kill myself afterwards or I would die by your hand and quite frankly, it didn't matter to me anymore." That last was said in a quiet, defeated, hopeless tone that Severus had never heard from Harry before and it only served to redouble his efforts to push the brat away before he found himself doing something quite against all decency and common sense - like kiss him  
senseless and never let him go again.

Because he didn't deserve Harry. Not his love, not his impossible faith, not his goodness, his impossible stubbornness, his penchant for trouble and any of the ten thousand things that had made Severus love him in return.

"Get out of my sight," Severus told him, taking out his wand and leveling it at the mad, crazed fool who stood in front of him.

But Harry went on, unheeding of Severus' words or his unspoken threat. "And now, knowing why you came to serve Voldemort, I realized that I would have done exactly the same thing, were I in your shoes."

"You would never have done such a thing!"

Harry stepped closer and took Severus' wand hand. To the latter's horror, he found that he could not, for the life of him, recall a single, simple spell to drive Harry away. Harry leaned close and whispered in his ear:

"If I had thought that you had been killed and that your murderer lived on, I would have torn the world apart to avenge you. And I would not have cared or counted the cost to my own soul."

Severus closed his eyes, shivering as he suddenly felt the crackle of Harry's own magic brush against him, a power finally grown to maturity and just barely kept in check. How his beautiful boy had grown...

"You're mad," Severus rasped.

"I'm a pirate," Harry countered. "It's the same thing."

This time, Harry took the initiative and kissed Severus and to the latter's dismay (read: delight), he found that his lover-turned-pirate was quite adept at making him lose all his wits and any notion of decency and common sense.

They might have gone on quite happily... except the full moon was rising in the sky and they were interrupted by a spinechilling howl.

There was one other thing that the Hogwarts Fire Swamp was well known for and that was the infamous W.O.U.S.

The Werewolf of Unusual Size.

-tbc-

A/N: sighs Veddy dangerous dealing with a Snapercup in High Drama Queen Dudgeon! On with the W.O.U.S!


	17. In Which Harry Plays Referee

**As You Wish  
Chapter Fifteen: The W.O.U.S. and the D.O.U.S.**

Now there is a common conception, popularized by a recently released film, that the W.O.U.S. of the Hogsmeade Fire Swamp was a scrawny, hairless, tailless, bug-eyed, slavering, misbegotten cross between man and beast that no wolf in his right mind would be proud to acknowledge as any relation on their family tree.

Foul calumny, I say - a monstrous and libelous attack on the reputation of a rather proud and magnificent, if still terribly dangerous dark and magical creature.

The Werewolf of Unusual Size, true to its name, was indeed an enormous lupine thrice the height of a man, with a thick light brown coat that was slightly gray in spots. Since he was a werewolf, he was also able to stand on two legs, his fur-covered hands sporting a wickedly sharp set of claws and of course, his lupine snarl displayed a matching set of long and equally lethal fangs.

Severus, of course, had no intention of ending up either as a werewolf's dinner or a werewolf himself. He let fly with a deadly, fatal hex that might have neatly disposed of the creature had Harry not fouled his aim by grabbing his wand hand and the werewolf's own fast reflexes.

"Have you gone completely round the twist!" Severus snarled at Harry.

Harry, for God knew what reason, was looking at the werewolf intently. "Severus, no, it's not what you think -- "

Severus wasn't listening. When he'd been but a boy, he had been nearly killed by a werewolf and only James Potter, one of the banes of his existence, had saved him from certain death or a lifetime having to bear the werewolf's curse. Potter and his misbegotten gang had never lost an opportunity to bully Severus but he was not mean-spirited or cruel enough to leave a fellow boy to such a fate.

It had left Severus with a wizard's life-debt to pay to James Potter, which he fulfilled by taking Harry in. But it seemed that the experience had served to sober up the spoiled, self-centered boy James had been as he had never been actively unkind to Severus ever again. Many people claimed that it had served to make James Potter a better person -- but then, Severus was quite disinclined to believe that and thought that it was only rather fortunate that Harry had not taken so much after his father as he had first believed when he had taken the boy in. Harry's mother Lily was a far better influence on her son and had given him so much more than just her remarkable green eyes.

In any case, the experience had also left Severus with a horror of the creatures and he wrenched free of Harry's grasp and was about to launch another hex when a huge, black dog leaped up from nowhere and knocked Severus to the ground. It bounded over in front of the W.O.U.S., snarling and growling ferociously.

Harry went to take his own protective stance in front of Severus and spoke sternly to the dog. "Really, this is bloody ridiculous, you great big prats. Is this any way to greet your godson?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. It couldn't be --

The dog barked happily, leaped up - he was so huge that he could reach Harry's shoulders on his hind legs - and proceeded to lick a roundly protesting and laughing Harry.

"Terribly sorry about this," said the werewolf mildly to Severus, who had now sat down and was busy attending to the burrs in his rather nice and bushy tail (yes, werewolves DID have tails). "I haven't scented you in years, Severus and I recognized you a bit too late. And this time of the month always leaves me a bit too...er... _wild."_

"Lupin," Severus said frostily, refusing to grant the creature who had nearly killed him in boyhood (never mind if it wasn't really Lupin's fault, as he was not in his right mind at the time), the courtesy of calling him by his first name. "I suppose you've been taking my new formulation of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Well, yes - I rather like having control of most of my faculties now - all thanks to you," said Lupin, whose first name was Remus, rather affably.

"Don't thank me - I was researching for a killing potion, not a bloody reliever of werewolf woes," Snape returned acidly. Of course, the truth that he'd once rather liked Remus Lupin as a boy, the only person in James Potter's gang who had never been truly cruel to Severus, was something he would never ever admit. Of course, that old, bittersweet memory was rather overshadowed by thoughts of Harry now.

Lupin threw him a wolfly, fang-filled grin that sent creepy shudders down Severus' spine (GAH - werewolves!). "Whatever you say, Severus. You have my thanks all the same."

Severus ignored him and turned his attention to the dog who was still happily wagging his tail and getting scritches from a very amused Harry Potter. With nothing to stop him, he took up his wand and spoke a single word.

Severus' aim was rather excellent.

The dog yelped as the curse hit him and he leapt away from an equally startled Harry. Huge clumps of black fur fell from him... turning what once was a huge black dog into a huge _bald_ dog.

A huge bald dog that was also now covered in disgusting, oozing scabs.

The bald dog glowed with magic as he frantically tried to undo the hex and then he transformed back into a tall, rather handsome man, even if he was still bald.

He had gotten rid of the scabs though.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR YOU GREASY SNIVELLING PRICK!" He roared.

"I meant to hit you with a rather painful Castration Hex, Sirius Black," Snape drawled. "But then I remembered that you were still Harry's godfather, as delinquent in your duties as you have been - YOU MANGY FLEABITTEN HARPY-WHELPED CUR!"

Sirius Black, formerly the Dread Pirate Roberts, shook himself and he soon had a full head of long, wild dark hair again. He smiled disarmingly at Severus. "Ah, it's a great compliment you pay to my mother, Snivellus - may she forever rot in Hades. I have missed you and your great big snooping beak too -- _Engorginostri!"_

Severus almost toppled over as his already considerable nose grew to titanic proportions. He was able to undo the hex fairly quickly and bellowed the incantation for a blasting curse which Sirius was only barely able to dodge in time.

Harry had been carefully watching Remus, prepared to come to his lover's aid if the werewolf decided to aid his mate. However, Remus was watching the two other men scrap it out like they were still eleven years old with a great deal of amusement.

"You're just going to let them fight it out?" Harry asked the werewolf.

"Yes, little cub." Remus sighed. "They've been like this ever since they were boys. I must admit that we were all right little prats back then... it's just that these two in particular have never really grown up."

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, AS USUAL, BLACK!" Snape was yelling. "IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, HARRY WOULDN'T HAVE NEARLY DIED, YOU FECKLESS IRRESPONSIBLE WANKER!"

"IT WAS JUST A LITTLE KNOCK ON THE HEAD YOU GREAT FLAMING NANCY DRAMA QUEEN! IT WAS A BLOODY ACCIDENT!"

"A LITTLE KNOCK THAT HAD HIM OUT FOR THREE BLEEDIN' DAYS! HE LOST HIS MEMORY, YOU STUPID SOD!"

And more hexes flew between them, turning them interesting colors, shapes, sizes, giving them extra appendages...

"I can't stand this anymore," Harry said decisively. "We have to get them apart."

"Try using a hose," Remus said helpfully.

"AND WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT HARRY ANYWAY, SNIVS?" Sirius hollered back. "I WOULD THINK YOU WOULDN'T HAVE GIVEN A RAT'S ARSE ABOUT JAMES' BOY, ANYWAY!"

"BECAUSE I LOVE HIM YOU GORMLESS TWIT!" Snape was quite red with rage and perhaps he would not have chosen to announce his feelings to Harry's godfather in this fashion but then it was rather too late at this point.

Sirius' eyes bulged and then his face contorted in sheer animal rage and he quite literally leapt for Snape's throat --

-- except that he was blasted back by a spray of water.

Harry had conjured up a hose and now stood between his godfather and his lover. "Sorry, dogfather but I do believe you two have had just enough fun for the day, don't you think?"

"And before you ask," Harry continued serenely, "I have not been hexed, dosed with a love potion, coerced, forced or any such other such nonsense. I love Severus - _period._ Meet your godson-in-law."

Sirius meeped.

And then, before Severus could gloat over his victory, Harry whirled around to face him, green eyes snapping. "Now that you've had your fun, could you PLEASE try not to hex my dear and beloved godfather into next year while we're in their company?"

Severus might have protested but then the words were out again before he could  
stop them. "As you wish."

Remus laughed, in a way only wolves could.

Sirius grinned weakly up at his new "godson-in-law." "So whipped, are we - Sniv- I mean, Snape?"

"I don't see you leading the mutiny against _your_ godson any time soon, are you, Black?" Snape returned tartly.

"Now that's all out of the way," said Remus pleasantly. "Why don't we head for home so we can put you two boys up for the night?"

Despite Severus' misgivings, Harry was only too eager to agree.

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black lived quietly and happily in the Shrieking Stack, so called because it had been believed to be haunted by ghosts. The truth was the "shrieking" came from a young Remus Lupin, in the years before the Wolfsbane Potion had eased his sufferings. The Shrieking Stack could only be entered through the great Whomping WIllow Tree, whose branches swayed and "whomped" at any trespassers... unless of course one knew how to carefully get between the tree's madly battering limbs to get at that knob at the base of the tree and make them stop moving.As they made their way there,

Sirius was telling Harry about his adventures after his retirement from piracy.

"... and so I looked up good ol' Remus here and thought if the Hogsmeade Fire Swamp had a W.O.U.S., it wouldn't mind getting itself a D.O.U.S."

"A what?" Harry asked.

"Dog of Unusual Size," said Snape dryly. "How very..._original._"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Whatever makes you happy, Snivvykins."

"Don't. Start." Harry said ominously to the both of them and they subsided.

Remus laid a careful paw on Harry's shoulder. "Well done, cub. Well, done."

All things considered, Remus was a good host and despite the look of barely-controlled paternal outrage on Sirius' face, Harry and Severus spent a rather  
restful and peaceful night in the Shrieking Stack's guest bedroom. Over breakfast the next day, Harry was wistfully thinking aloud and proposed something that Severus thought was a bit too rash.

"Are you mad?" Severus exclaimed. "How do you propose for us to live happily ever after here with two mangy, fleabitten fuzzbutts underfoot!"

"OI!" Sirius spluttered in outrage. "That's mangy, fleabitten dogfather and godwolf-in laws to you, Severus Snape!"

This time, the normally quiet and even tempered Remus joined in the fray. As it was no longer the full moon, he was in his human form - an affable-looking man with light brown, slightly graying hair and who wore his shabby wizard's robes with a certain insouciant charm. Nonetheless, there was still something quite formidable about him.

"You know," Remus said conversationally. "The mangy and fleabitten jokes are getting a bit old, Severus and it's not as if we say anything when we can hear and SMELL you two canoodling under the covers even WITH the privacy wards up!"

_"Daddy," said Katerina curiously. "What's canoodling?" _

Daddy turned a bit pink and Papa was making strangled, choking noises. "Er... kitten, it's... um..."

Katerina was very smart for her age and she knew that there were a lot of interesting things going on when grown-ups started blushing and acting oddly around her. She sighed in exasperation. "Let me guess, it has a lot to do with kissing stuff and I'm supposed to find out when I'm older."

"Hopefully when you're much older and perhaps, best of all, never," Papa muttered darkly.

"Er... yes, well," Daddy cleared his throat. "Moving along..."

The truth was, Harry and Severus might have stayed longer with Sirius and Remus and stay hidden and safe from the rest of the world but Harry knew that as much as he loved his dogfather and godwolf, he and Severus had to move on. They couldn't hide from the world forever (especially Prince Voldemort) and Harry had no wish to court disaster by keeping Sirius Black and Severus Snape within hexing distance of each other. He loved both men, if in decidedly different ways and did not wish to end up choosing between them.

And so our two lovers walked out of the other side of the Fire Swamp, hand in hand, bracing themselves to face the outside world once more.

Prince Voldemort was waiting for them.

- tbc -

**Author's Notes**

a. Yes, I broke a lot of Potterverse rules with the werewolf and how the wolfsbane potion is really supposed to work. I've never liked the werewolf design in the movie and I've always wanted to make Remus!Werewolf "talk" somehow. Here was my chance.

b. Yes, if you haven't missed it, there was just the teensiest bit of Snupin in there. Ancient history. Never happened. Shhh. Do NOT tell Harry. XP

c. Many thanks to blueraven who pops in on my Snarry RPG to play Remus Lupin. Her delicious portrayal of him colors the Remus in this fic. Heh. And she also gave some of his lines. Thanks, Angie-Moo!

d. Also many thanks to ygrane for helping answer some of my questions while I knocked this chapter together. Especially with helping me invent some hexes out of whole cloth. Heh.

e. The blatant capslock abuse was my salute to OotP. Heh.

On to the next chapter!


	18. In Which Snape Does Something Rash

**As You Wish****  
****by Darth Stitch**

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

_**In Which Snapercup...er, Snape Does Something Rather Rash**_**_  
_**  
**Chapter 16: The Word of a Prince****  
**  
Severus Snape knew that he and Harry were in Dire Straits indeed.

He took note of the fact that they were surrounded by Prince Voldemort, Count Lucius Malfoy and all his men, the fact that despite his own considerable talents at magic, they were badly outnumbered and that the only points of escape were either back through the Fire Swamp or by fighting their way through Voldemort and his soldiers.

The Prince looked down his fine elegant nose at them, as only royalty could, even if he happened to be the wicked sort, never mind the fact that he was the (ahem!) Second Most Handsome Man in All the World, no matter how much he tried to deny it. "I do believe that you have my Potions Master in your possession, good sir. I will make this quite simple, in terms that you will not fail to understand: _surrender him now or die." _

Harry, naturally, only had one answer to that. "Death first!"

Severus took note, with a mix of irritation and fond exasperation, how Harry had protectively stepped forward, placing himself between Severus and the enraged Prince. And so, he was forced to take certain steps, no matter how rash it seemed at the moment.

_Papa sniffed. "I beg your pardon - he was only doing the sensible thing!"_

_Daddy made coughing sounds that oddly sounded like "Bullshit! Bullshit!" to Katerina. The little girl found herself giggling because Daddy was using a Bad Word and knew quite well that she was forbidden to copy what Papa called a "deplorable use of language."_

_"I thought it was rather sweet of him to defend Snape like that," Daddy pointed out._

_"He's being a rash, imprudent, impetuous Gryffindor, that's what he is," Papa pointed out. "And he's an idiot to boot!"_

_Daddy gave him a sly look. "Perhaps Snape thought that he was being sweet too but he's too ornery to admit it."_

_At that, Papa swooped down and gave Daddy a brief, if rather intense kiss, which left Daddy looking delightfully dizzy._

_Katerina rolled her eyes. "You two can snog later! We have to get Harry and Snape away from the wicked Prince!"_

_Daddy still looked a little dazed and Papa was looking very smug but he somehow managed to pick up where he left off..._

And so, Severus did the only thing he could think of at such short notice. He drew out his wand and spoke a single word: _"Stupefy!"_

Harry fell unconscious, of course and Severus, with a great show of nonchalance, stepped over the young man's prone body and spoke to the Prince, "Forgive the boy, my lord. He's always been a little rash and he is an acquaintance of mine, a sailor back from his voyage. He was good enough to help me escape the Rat."

At that, Count Malfoy spluttered in protest and Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Escape the Rat? Why, whatever has he done?"

"Oh, he is the treacherous sort, my lord," Severus said quickly. "Planned to do a little bit of double-crossing and all that rot, sell me to the Dread Pirate Roberts. He is quite dead now, thanks to our combined efforts. In fact, I am quite ready to return to Hogsmeade and finally get to work on the potion you have commissioned."

"Excellent work, my dear Severus!" Voldemort praised.

"I would only like to ask a favor, my lord?"

"Ask and if it is in my power to give it to you, I shall do it. You have my word," the Prince promised.

"I only ask that you return this boy, safe and sound, back to his ship. I really wouldn't have been able to escape the Rat, much less make it out of the Fire Swamp alive, without him," Severus answered, praying that his story would be believed and that the Prince would do as he had asked.

"Done!" The Prince said expansively and motioned a soldier to bring along an extra horse. "Go ahead with some of my men. I have a Portkey at our camp which should take you back to Hogwarts Castle."

"Thank you, my lord." And Severus rode off, not daring to look back at Harry, not wanting to think of the look in Harry's eyes when he'd cast that spell, knowing that he would see him for the very last time. But he would rather have Harry alive and hating him than dead. He would _not _live through that again!

The Prince and Count Malfoy looked at the still-unconscious Harry. "Take him away, my dear Count. We are sure that you will find a way to suitably 'reward' this impudent youth who dares call himself the most handsome man in the world."

"Very good, my lord. I rather like the idea of trying him out on my new toy. He will make a most excellent specimen," answered the Count.

"That's what I like about you, Lucius - you do know how to amuse yourself," said the Prince dryly.

"And what of your sworn word to Snape?" asked the Count.

The Prince shrugged. "You know what they say, Lucius. 'Put not your trust in Princes.' "

And then, Voldemort smiled and it was not a pleasant expression, not at all.

-tbc-

**Author's Notes: **What? Sith here! Of course the next chapter's a-comin' soon! cackles evilly

With thanks to **tanyad** for beta and **jackoweskla** for patiently putting up with some of my questions.

This chapter is also dedicated to **joannindiw** for her wonderful and quite unlooked-for gift of books, which came just in time to brighten up my days.


	19. In Which We Learn Not to Trust Princes

**As You Wish  
****by Darth Stitch**

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

_**In Which We Find Out Why One Should Not Put One's Trust in Princes**_

**Chapter 17**

**The King of Pain**

Harry Potter woke up in a most uncomfortable position.

Well, one would be uncomfortable strapped to an ominous contraption made of all sorts of wheels and gears and Harry knew one didn't need to be a genius to figure out that the thing was most definitely designed for inflicting pain.

A lot of pain.

It must be admitted that Harry had the uncanny ability to get himself in and out of the most dangerous situations, either by skill and talent or, as his godfather himself had once put it, "sheer dumb luck." And this was even before he'd started sailing the Seven Seas as the Dread Pirate Roberts. It wasn't as if he blundered into trouble; trouble seemed just to have this unfailing ability to find _him. _It _really_ wasn't his fault.

_At this, Papa snorted and gave Daddy an eloquent look. _

Honest!

And as most heroes knew, one _did_ need a combination of skill, talent and sheer dumb luck to get through every adventure. It was, in fact, a Standard Requirement. So he was fairly sure that he would be able to extract himself from this particular situation.

He only wished that Severus had enough faith in him to be able to do that in the first place.

And that hurt most of all, even worse than what Harry had originally foreseen that Severus was likely to do. That Harry would not be forgiven for those lost years, for the deception that was inadvertently foisted on him and that he thought he needed to continue. And even while the practical, sensible part of Harry thought about the possibility of Severus having changed for the worse, that he was now lost in Voldemort's service – he still knew that he could do nothing but go after his true love, hoping, having _faith_ that things would turn out all right in the end.

Yet, even after everything that had passed between them, it seemed that Severus still had no faith in Harry.

Harry had always known that Severus would be forever protective of him and yet, he'd trusted that Severus would eventually see Harry as an _equal_, a _partner_. Someone Severus could protect but also someone Severus could trust to protect him in turn. And was that not the real reason why Severus had sent him away in the first place? For Harry to grow up, to make his own decisions, to stand on his own two feet – to return to Severus as a man who knew his own mind and heart and not as a lovestruck, infatuated _boy?_

The smooth voice of Count Lucius Malfoy intruded into Harry's thoughts. "And are we comfortable, Master Rogers?"

Harry made a show of thinking about it. "Well, if you'd be a good fellow and get me a pillow and maybe a blanket, I think I'll be all set, thanks ever so. And it's _Captain _Rogers, if you please."

The Count's lips stretched into what was probably a thin smile, if it could called that. "Brave words, 'Captain' Rogers. Especially since I bid you welcome to the Fifth Level of the Zoo of Death! Abandon all hope and despair!"

He paused dramatically.

Harry cringed. "That was an absolutely _terrible_ performance, you know. That Jason Isaacs fellow could have done it ever so much better…"

**-sshpss-**

Severus Snape was definitely in a most uncomfortable position.

Prince Voldemort had invited him to what looked like a very _intimate _dinner. Well, at least as intimate a dinner as it could be, what with Death Eaters guarding the doors and Nagini coiled up next to the Prince in her own special place at the table. Other than that, they were alone and that set off every warning bell in Snape's head.

He was aware that the Prince enjoyed… oh gods; the only word for it was _flirting_ with him. Not that Severus ever took that seriously, often escaping into the cool, dignified formality that was required by protocol. He was aware, however, that it only served to increase the Prince's attentions towards him and well, he wasn't above using that to get his own way and survive the endless machinations and intrigues at Court.

Right now, despite how handsome the Prince was, Severus just wanted to tell him to bugger off.

"Is there something wrong with your dinner, Severus?" the Prince asked solicitously. "I shall have the cook executed at dawn if he's not done his best for us tonight."

"No, my lord," Severus said hastily, "Please forgive me, it's just that I haven't much of an appetite after Portkeying."

"Ah," the Prince answered. "Or perhaps you have another reason for your loss of appetite?"

Severus tried not to choke on the wine, which had been pronounced as a "most excellent vintage" by the Prince. "I beg your pardon, my lord? I'm not sure as to what exactly are you referring to."

The Prince's expression was definitely predatory. "You have a clever tongue in you, my dear Severus but we are not pleased when you decide to use that to our disadvantage."

"Have I displeased you in any way, my lord?"

Severus gasped as the Prince suddenly appeared right in front of him, one bejeweled hand grasping his throat, the jewels cutting like claws into his skin.

"Did you think that I would not know that you _lied_ to me?"

**-sshpss-**

Count Malfoy went around throwing up levers and flipping switches and the machine roared into life. "I do hope you'll continue to maintain that wonderfully droll sense of humor, Captain. Although I have found that most men lose all capacity for speech by the time my wonderful machine has gotten through with them."

"You seem very proud of this toy of yours," Harry replied. "Build it yourself, eh?"

"I have long made a careful study of pain, Captain," said the Count, turning back to face Harry. "I've delved into its very heart, catalogued it in all its glorious, exquisite varieties. This invention of mine represents the very apex of all my research."

"How fascinating, you must be a hit at all the dinner parties," Harry mock-observed, quietly gathering his magic. He didn't have his wand on him but Harry had since learned that he did have a talent for wandless magic.

"Don't bother, Captain Roberts," sneered the Count. "You won't be able to use any magic in this place. The Prince and I have made sure of that." He leaned close to Harry and breathed in his ear. "I wonder how you will sound like when I make you _scream."_

"Did you think," Prince Voldemort hissed, "that I would not know that the 'boy' you were with, that 'simple sailor' as you called him, was in fact the _Dread Pirate Roberts?"_

"His name is Harry Potter," Severus choked out, truthfully in fact. "He was my apprentice, he was lost at sea and it was the Dread Pirate Roberts who took him from me!"

Voldemort paused and he removed his hand from its painfully crushing grip on Severus' throat. "You're telling me the truth."

"Of course," Severus rasped. "I've no reason to lie to you, my lord."

"You're not lying… but you are not telling me the entire truth either. Very clever, Severus," the Prince replied. "You love that young man; I can see it in your eyes… I don't even have to cast a _Legilimens _spell to read it in your mind."

Severus' eyes narrowed and Voldemort laughed. "Oh, Severus, the look on your face! I am well aware that you are a skilled Occlumens but you didn't really think you could hide anything from _me, _did you?_"_

"It was worth a try," Severus snapped, knowing that the game was well and truly up but not yet willing to go down without a fight. "Where is Harry?"

Voldemort trailed one finger down Severus' cheek in a hideous parody of Harry's own gesture of affection and the latter couldn't help but shudder. "He's had a good headstart, I should think. Unlike you, I do keep my word."

_Put not your trust in Princes,_ Severus belatedly remembered and wished that he could kick himself for ever forgetting that.

"Of course, all I need to do is speak and my Death Eaters will be after him. I will scour all the lands and all the seas for him and I will not stop until I bring him back, in chains, to be executed in the slowest and most painful manner possible," Voldemort smiled. "And I shall be sure to make that beautiful, perfect face a bloody ruin before I'm through. No one is fairer or more handsome than me! _No one!"_

Bloody, buggering hell! Severus was already slowly drawing his wand out from its place in his sleeve. He knew that it would mean his death but he had every intention of going down into hell and taking Voldemort with him. But before he could do so, his wand flew out of his sleeve and into Voldemort's hands.

"Oh, Severus, who knew you could be so disgustingly noble and self-sacrificing?"

Voldemort mourned. "There is a way you can make it up to me, though."

"I hope it includes me telling you to sod off and be buggered up the wall by your bloody snake," Severus snarled.

In reply, Voldemort spoke a single word: _"Imperio!"_

Severus shuddered all over as he felt the insidious power of that Unforgivable Curse sweep over him, robbing him of his own will.

"Marry me, Severus Snape," Voldemort purred. "I will make this puny kingdom into an empire and I shall lay it all at your feet. You will keep me young and beautiful forever and be at my side for all time. Say yes, my dearest one."

Despite all his efforts to fight the spell, to stop the Prince from imposing his will on him, Severus found himself answering "Yes."

**-sshpss-**

Harry was in unspeakable pain.

Count Malfoy had cranked the machine up bit by bit, slowly introducing Harry to the "various levels of pain," as he put it. The Count said he wanted to hear Harry scream but Harry held it back for as long as possible, not wanting to give the bastard the satisfaction. He groaned and whimpered and bit his lip until he drew blood.

But he did not scream.

"It's a perfect waste of a good voice," the Count remonstrated with him. "Screaming does help with the pain, you realize."

Harry tried to cast his mind away from his body, to distance himself from the pain. He tried to think of Severus instead, of the way his hands moved deftly and gracefully as he prepared his potions, of the sound of his voice when he read to Harry, of his kiss and the warmth of his breath against Harry's skin…

"It's a pity, isn't it, that your lover gave up at the very first opportunity," the Count observed, seeming to see into Harry's very thoughts. "I'm not fool enough to think that Severus wasn't trying to save your skin when he did that. But still, all your tales of derring-do have failed to impress your beloved." Once more, he bent to whisper in Harry's ear. "He doesn't trust you. He doesn't believe in you. He never has."

And oh gods, that hurt worse than Malfoy's thrice-damned torture machine. Harry felt the tears trickling down his cheeks. If only Severus had a little more faith in him!

But he still did not scream.

The Count frowned as he cranked up the machine one level before the very highest. "Such an unusual capacity for pain. You are unique, Captain Roberts. It's almost a pity to finish you…"

"Sod. Off," Harry ground out through gritted teeth.

"Are you trying to live for true love and all that rot, Captain?" Malfoy inquired pleasantly. He made a show of caressing Harry's cheek and then his hair, before digging painfully into the black strands with his fingers. "There is nothing left to live for, you know. Severus Snape is not a man who will be content with a headstrong, lovestruck _boy_. One that he forever needs to save…"

Harry tried to spit at him but he found that he didn't have the strength. He thought of Severus again, remembered the bright flash of that spell and the amused, laughing faces of the Prince and the Count just before he'd lost unconsciousness…

_You don't have to keep saving me all the time, Severus. _

"Scream for me, Master Roberts. I want to hear it. Now."

"Never," Harry rasped.

The Count snarled and cranked the machine up to the very highest level.

Harry screamed. Once. But it wasn't from the physical pain.

_Why didn't you trust me, Severus?_

"One scream? That's all I get!" The Count protested. He rushed to Harry. "Again! Do it again!"

"Did you know," the tormented man whispered, "that you've got six fingers on your right hand?"

And then, Harry Potter died.

-tbc-

**Author's Notes: **MUWAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHA! Man, it's fun being an evil alien Sith Lord.


End file.
